Silence Speaks
by lochness20
Summary: Jane's escape fails and she is tortured in CIA custody for longer than three months. The team stumbles across her accidentally, but is it too late? She has retreated far into her mind and doesn't trust them enough to speak.
1. No Rest for the Wicked

Disclaimer: Blindspot is my current obsession but it is not mine

So here we go… a brand new story. This is an alternative start to season 2 where Jane's escape attempt fails. But because of her almost escape, the torture escalates.

Yes… there will be angst… gotta love the angst.

I really wanted to delve into the characters' thoughts and motivations. Hopefully you all enjoy it.

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Chapter 1

No Rest for the Wicked

...

Jane remembered her training. For three months, she bided her time.

She watched.

She planned.

She endured.

She would escape from this hell hole and get her revenge. The people who tattooed her and turned her into a traitor would not go unpunished; she _would_ make them pay. Jane knew that absolution was out of her reach — her mistakes would never be forgiven. Her team ( _former— her former team, Idiot!_ ) had made that perfectly clear when they sent her here.

She did not deserve forgiveness — but Jane felt compelled to at least try to make things right. All feelings aside, her actions had resulted in a great loss and gutting betrayal; she was obliged to do her best to rectify in any way she could. _After all,_ w _hat else did she have?_

The hope for escape and revenge became the easiest things to fixate on; they were her reason for breathing and the only things she would allow herself to dwell on. It helped her cope— it kept her sane. She _needed_ them.

The more time Jane spent with Keaton, the more confined her thoughts became… the more parts of herself she shut away.

It was a metaphorical tight rope. Jane could not think of the past without dredging up self-recriminations and for her stupid decisions. And she had few plans beyond her escape except the lonely, short future that she foresaw for herself.

There was only escape and revenge. To think about anyone or anything else was a distraction; it was _not_ allowed. Keep it factual, keep it current and stay detached. Pain was a dream; escape was her only reality.

Jane refused to give Keaton the satisfaction of breaking her. Everyday when they were finished with her, she compartmentalized the trauma into a tiny box in her mind. She shut out the agony of her body. She forgot the desolate depression. She ignored the black tendrils of fear that snaked through her mind. But it was hard... _so_ hard not to permanently retreat into the calm, safe zone her mind had created to hide from the pain.

Instead, she focused on what she had observed from her captors and turned those observations into an action plan.

To escape Jane needed three things: a detailed analysis of her enemy's behaviour, a weapon and an advantage.

Step one: know her enemy. She memorized the traits and roles of her captors. She knew which guard would hold her down and how Keaton liked to administer each brand of torture. She knew which guard favoured a right hook and which one had a weak ankle. She knew how many guards usually attended each session. Most importantly, she knew that they were becoming more lax as time went on.

Step two: a weapon. She scavenged rope and attached it to the heavy drain in her otherwise empty cell. Grateful that they chose not to use a camera in her prison, she hid the weapon in plain sight and waited for the opportune moment.

Step three: an advantage. She fought her instincts and, on occasion, allowed her body to succumb to the extreme torture — each time mentally documenting how they reacted. She knew that when she drowned, they had a serum ready to administer to her body using an IV. Bingo. Once she was ready, she allowed herself to drown and be beaten in a half-hearted escape attempt in order to gain the IV needle.

...

It took three months before Jane was ready to execute the plan.

With the IV needle firmly gripped between her teeth, she stealthily hid her makeshift weapon in her clothing and waited. Her awareness narrowed to her surroundings and all her senses were sharply focused on her prepared course.

On her way to the torture room, she used the needle to pick the lock on her cuffs. Once free, adrenaline kicked her body into high gear and she attacked the guards with all her reserves of strength. She felt nothing; no mercy, no remorse, just satisfaction as she watched their bodies crumple.

It all seemed to go according to plan. She had taken out the two men that flanked her and effectively knocked Keaton unconscious. Unfortunately, she hadn't anticipated an extra guard newly placed to observe her session in the shadows.

One minute she was ready to bolt for freedom, and the next thing she was flat on the floor experiencing the debilitating pain of a taser…

Fade to black.

…

* * *

...

When Jane woke up - she was in a new circle of hell reserved only for the worst sinners; she supposed she fit right in.

Keaton was humiliated by her almost-escape— by the fact that Jane had bested him. New motivation fuelled his sociopathic mind. He wanted to kill her spirit… he wanted to decimate her strength… he wanted to crush her under his heel if it was the last thing he did. He designed a new torture regime with the sole intention of breaking her will…

And he succeeded.

What was once predictable and bearable became the unendurable. Each day was a new lesson in suffering and torment…

…

Emotionless faces swirled around Jane as her guards circled her like vultures after a meal. They did not feel, they did not flinch and they never stopped. But where they were robotic, Keaton's glee was a stark contrast - he presided over each relentless session like a gleeful, mad king.

Every inch of her body ached and throbbed from the bottom of her bare, rat-bitten feet to the tips of her cracked fingernails. She never thought that would miss her dank cell; but she longed for that private refuge if only to regain her bearings.

Jane could no longer remember the last time she had slept for longer than an hour. She needed respite from the glaring electric lights and the shrill shrieking that played on an endless loop. No sleep… no refuge… no rest for the wicked.

 _Like an endless film that she couldn't forget, she watched her actions play out over and over again.  
_ _She reminisced over her failures and cringed at how she had once been so naive.  
_ _God, she loathed herself... she was the one to blame.  
_ _She still felt Oscar's hands on her body, Kurt's lips on her mouth and Mayfair's blood on her hands._

 _Hindsight was a bitch._

Her days lost all sense of time. The only way to measure the passing hours was by the vicious beatings that would herald the start of a new horrific episode of torture. She fingered the black bruises and red electrical burns that mottled her inked patchwork was liberally interrupted by a sea of shallow lacerations that coated her body. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Keaton playing with the knife.

 _Why did they keep asking questions? She no longer spoke.  
She never knew most of the answers in the first place and the answers she did know, she would never tell.  
Even though her team had discarded her here like a broken toy, she couldn't bring herself to demonstrate another act of disloyalty. _

Jane's throat was raw from the salt water that she was first drowned in and then forced to consume to the point of continuous vomiting. Pain lanced up the muscles of her back and legs from the contorted positions she was forced to maintain for days on end.

 _She used to be someone.  
When she was Taylor, she had a name, an identity and a family.  
Now… no name… no rights… she was nothing and she had no one.  
What does one hold onto when there is nothing firm to grasp— nothing to anchor you;  
when there is nothing constant except pain._

Her shoulders burned; they had handcuffed her hands behind her back and then suspend her body from the cuffs. The pressure had dislocated both her shoulders; her captors only deigned to shove them back into their sockets much later.

 _What was her purpose now?  
Why did her body keep fighting to live?  
Hope or vengeance… instinct or willpower… guilt or anger… or nothing at all._

Scant, moldy food and stale water. Jane's body was barely able to function.

 _She was a failure. Her instincts— her decisions… they ended in disaster.  
Mayfair and the team had trusted her and she betrayed that trust.  
She had only wanted to protect them and instead she hurt everyone. _

_Kurt… Mayfair… Oscar… Patterson… Zapata… Reade… she hurt the people she loved._

 _Every. Single. One._

 _She couldn't even save herself._

And through it all, Jane had the pleasure of Keaton's constant questions. She could smell the fetid stench of his breath on her face and feel his creeping hands roaming her body. His voice, face and hands were her waking nightmare.

His methods worked— she no longer planned an escape. Every cell in her body was working too hard to survive.

And she was numb to the pain now. Like the endless litany of questions and scent of her own blood, pain was as common as breathing.

…

* * *

...

Jane tried to follow her training but all her strength was depleted. Out of sheer desperation, she retreated deep into her mind as far away from reality as she could manage. She no longer tried to stay aware and let herself sink into the warmth of oblivion.

No purpose, no hope — just the instinct to protect what little of her there was left to protect.

…

In the beginning, Jane's mind had fled to places she used to consider safe.

At first, she imagined herself in her safe house — but that apartment wasn't truly safe. Her safe house was the place where Kurt arrested her; it was the place where the person she had protected, turned into her enemy. The place where her last vestiges of security were ripped from her hands. It was the home that she no longer deserved. It was the place where hell began. No, Her safe house was not a safe place to shelter her mind.

The next place she imagined was Weller's apartment. But that door was mentally slammed shut fairly quickly. Weller hated her - he sent her to hell without even the chance to explain herself. Weller's apartment was meant for Taylor, not Jane — she wasn't welcome there anymore. She didn't deserve his protection. Besides, how safe could it truly be, if she was kidnapped by Carter outside of it.

Her mind flitted to the New York Office next. It was once a place of identity and belonging — the one place that gave her a feeling of purpose. But even that place would not do — she had been kicked out of it— fired by Pellington. It was Mayfair's domain; it was the place where Jane betrayed and lied to the woman who sheltered her. It was a place she would never belong to again.

After all this time, Jane had circled back to the nameless woman in the duffel bag. She still didn't know what safety felt like…

…

Jane's imagination constructed a brand new safe place. From scratch, her mind built a dream haven to preserve her consciousness and insulate her from the harsh reality.

It was a beautiful place that belonged only to her - and as long as she stayed inside of it, pain was a dream. The haven that her consciousness created came in the form of a small cottage by the sea.

While her body starved and convulsed, she imagined herself cuddled on a white divan listening to the lull of the crashing waves.

While her lungs burned and choked, she mentally painted the walls a serene shade of green.

While the brown rats gnawed at the bared flesh of her legs and feet, she conjured up walls full of friendly, framed pictures of the team that was once her family.

When the bitter tang of blood and vomit became too much to handle, she fabricated a luxurious queen-sized bed with warm, flannel sheets.

On the really bad days, she pretended she was Taylor Shaw. She pretended she was a girl with a happy childhood with people who loved her. A girl with a history, a name, a family and Kurt. Even though deep down she knew that life didn't belong to her.

Her haven wasn't foolproof. She had to fortify her mental defences daily to keep the CIA out. If she wasn't careful, the phone would ring and Keaton's voice would taunt her softly from the other end. Once, while she was being waterboarded, the ceiling of her dream house ripped open and water flooded inside.

But she was vigilant and meticulously rebuilt and strengthened each flaw that appeared. She bolted the door with countless locks and sealed every window.

Even if her body was being systematically broken, Jane's mind was was strong… too strong. Her mind would not let her body give up — her damn instincts and training kept fighting for life. Until her mind broke, she would be stuck living this half life — trapped in purgatory for her sins.

Jane retreated further and further inside her head and firmly shut the door.

…

* * *

...

Sometimes, from the safety of her haven, Jane let herself wonder.

She wondered how Keaton could derive so much pleasure out of these last four months. What kind of man could happily reduce a person a mere shell.

She wondered how her team could send her here. They never even gave her a chance to explain what happened — her months of service and protection meant nothing. She had thought they were friends— family even. Did they secretly hate her all along or only now? She cringed at the thought that _he_ hated her the most.

She wondered if there would ever be an end to this torment. She didn't expect to be saved; she didn't expect to be found. To be found, someone had to be looking for you. But no one wanted to find her. No one _wanted_ her.

But wondering was pointless. After all, the victorious didn't need to justify anything.

...

* * *

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Thoughts?

Should I continue or try something different?


	2. Admitting Defeat

So, because my story extends Jane's captivity for an extra month there are some differences from the team we see in the show, especially Kurt. I really wanted to dig into what he might be feeling… so hopefully it rings true.

* * *

Also, according to my theory. With regards to Mayfair, the team has basically accepted that she is dead but they don't really know the extent Jane's involvement in it.

It is is so sad to think of the juxtaposition of their thoughts compared to Jane's terrible situation... But the foundation had to be laid...

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Chapter 2

Admitting Defeat

...

Kurt relaxed on Borden's couch. After four months and dozens of sessions with the therapist, he was finally coming to terms with his father's death.

He hadn't wanted to — therapy was the _last_ thing on his mind. He had wanted to focus on his new role as the Assistant Director of the New York Office of the FBI. He wanted to keep Mayfair's case open until they could determine the identity of her killer and sort the files she had left in their care. He wanted to bury his father in a hole in the ground to be forgotten forever.

Kurt never wanted to think about his father again.

He hated sharing his feelings of weakness and failure — but he felt that he no longer had a choice. A few weeks ago, Allie had shown up in his apartment with an ultrasound picture. He was going to be a father. Him. Kurt Weller… a dad.

When he heard the news, all he could think about was the fact that he didn't want to be like his own father. He had to deal with it. He had to step out from under the shadow cast by Bill Weller in order to move forward and be a better man, a better father. He and Allie would never be anything more than friends… but that innocent child shouldn't suffer for his stubbornness and unresolved issues.

Unfortunately, the issue of Bill Weller could not be addressed independently from Jane Doe.

All his life, Kurt had trusted his gut to determine what was right and what was wrong — it had never failed him. He had _known_ that his father was guilty. But Jane had changed everything.

Because of her, he doubted his instincts. Because she had convinced him that she was Taylor, he had let his father back into his life. He had rebuilt that relationship and let himself care again. When the truth came out, it it was like a sucker punch to his gut. Taylor was dead and his father had killed her. And he was forced to deal with the grief, resentment, anger and guilt _all over_ _again_. All because of _her_.

Borden encouraged him to talk about Jane. But Jane… she was… complicated.

Kurt could admit to himself that he had loved her. If he hadn't cared so much, her betrayal wouldn't have stirred such a strong reaction.

He could admit that he had ignored any evidence to the contrary and convinced himself that she was Taylor. He overlooked the evidence, because he had grown to love aspects of Jane that had nothing to do with Taylor— and he needed a reason to justify those feelings. He had loved her strength and her determination and her selfless heart.

He could admit how he felt humiliated that he fell so easily for her act. How he felt that his blind fixation on Jane had led him to these feelings like a stupid lamb to slaughter. Maybe if he hadn't been so wrapped up in Jane he might have seen the truth or some kind of sign. He might have been of more help to Mayfair and she never would have disappeared.

He could admit that he regretted how he had handled her arrest. He'd been overwhelmed by the betrayal of his father and the trauma of digging up Taylor's bones; he had been reckless and drunk. Maybe he should have let her explain— at least then he would have some answers.

He could admit that he still wanted her to pay for her sins. She deserved to face justice for the lies she told, for impersonating Taylor. She needed to be held accountable for the part she played in the twisted conspiracy that planted her in the FBI's lap.

He assumed the CIA had placed her in some maximum security prison while they studied her tattoos — it wasn't exactly justice, but at least she was contained and incarcerated.

What he _couldn't_ admit was how often he still thought about her. He never told Borden that she was still the first person that he thought about when good or bad things happened in his life. Even when Allie told him about the baby… Jane's face had automatically flashed in his mind.

He resented it. He was tired of dealing with the fallout of her lies. He needed her to stay in the past and out of his head. He didn't want to think about her anymore— he refused to miss her. He wasn't going to look for her and he didn't want to know or care why she did what she did.

 _At least that's what he told himself._

...

* * *

…

The team was in a conference room discussing the conclusion of their latest success. A routine take-down of a serial arsonist that threatened a local state building. It had been a draining but straight forward case — no surprises and no near-death experiences.

"Weller…" Zapata started. Kurt looked up expectantly. "Have you given any more thought to working the tattoo cases again?"

Tasha had tried to wait for a good time to ask. Weller tended to turn into a taciturn grump whenever anything related to Jane came up in conversation. She and Reade had discussed the best method to reintroduce this idea.

They were just coming off of a win and hopefully he would be in a receptive mood.

She watched as he stood and grasped the back of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. A stone-faced mask dropped over his previously open face, "I've given it some thought. I think it's dangerous for us to follow those leads without knowing where they're truly coming from. But if something emergent comes up, we can look into it."

Tasha tracked his pathway out of the room and down the hall… probably to his office or the gym. She, Reade and Patterson all exchanged loaded glances.

Honestly,Tasha didn't really know how she felt about the Jane situation...

One minute Jane was their friend and team mate and the next day she had disappeared. Weller told them that he had found Taylor's body and that Jane was supposedly an imposter who had been lying to them the whole time.

What they needed were answers. Except the CIA had swooped in and stolen her before the FBI could even process her. Patterson had tried to ascertain a location or start a dialogue but they were stone-walled at every turn. No one had had a chance to ask Jane a single question or say a single word.

By nature, Tasha was a suspicious and cynical person— there was no denying it, in fact, she embraced it. Tasha wanted to believe that Jane was the woman that they had grown to trust. That Jane truly was all that she had appeared to be… a lonely amnesiac, a badass victim and their friend. But what she had to assume was that Jane was their enemy. She was a liar, a Trojan horse and possibly connected to Mayfair's death.

Without answers— without Jane, there were only assumptions. For all she knew, Jane was now working with a new CIA team to trace her tattoos or she was in Mexico or she had returned to the people who sent her to the FBI in the first place.

They rarely mentioned her these days. To tell the truth, Jane was out of sight, out of mind most of the time.

It was a shame, though, their case load was now boring as hell.

…

* * *

...

The next morning everything began normally. Weller was holed up in his office while Zapata and Reade logged paperwork on their completed case. Patterson was in her office overseeing her team and possibly, secretly trying to crack a few tattoos.

All of a sudden, the lights flickered and all of the screens in her office went dark. A single screen lit up with a face she never expected to see again. Without a word she grabbed her phone and sent a series of messages.

Within seconds, Weller, Reade and Zapata came storming into her office. Their faces varied from curious to annoyed.

"Hey, Stubbles," Rich dotcom smiled, "The gang's all here."

Weller crossed his arms and squared off against the computer screen, "Rich, what an unpleasant surprise. Patterson, can you get rid of him."

"Hey, hey… don't look behind the curtain," Rich teased and laughed at his own joke, "Get it. I'm the wizard of Oz… Nothing? Really? Wow, bad crowd. You know what? Every time I see you, your sense of humour gets worse and worse. You all should really work on that."

"Yeah, the wizard of Oz was a con artist too. Why are you here, Rich?" Zapata cut in impatiently. This clown was always bad news.

"Seriously the chemistry with this team is gone. I'm just being honest — there is a lot of tension going on here, something just doesn't jive," Rich ignored the jibe and rambled on.

"Cut it out," Weller tried to get to the point.

Rich's dark eyes roved curiously over the team, "I blame the missing team member. Let's see, who could it be eeny meany miny mo. Where is my favourite badass, mystery lady?"

The concerned look Patterson sent Weller's way and the uncomfortable postures of the rest of the team were unmistakeable. "Yep, I knew it. You know, it's hard being the smartest person in the room — figuratively, not literally, obviously I'm only on a screen—."

"— You know, I think if we all left the room he would go away on his own." Reade suggested to quickly change the subject. Would this guy ever shut up?

"Ummm hello, get over yourself, Stubbles Junior. Seriously, you guys have no idea how to treat a guest. But hey, I can work with it. The intense stares and rude comments kind of work for me, lucky you. Plus, I am such a boss, that I am still going to help you." He was like an energizer bunny on crack.

"We don't want your brand of help, Rich. Last time, you used us to steal millions of dollars worth of paintings. We aren't going get involved this time." Patterson announced definitively, still embarrassed over the fiasco.

Rich looked a little hurt, "I didn't _use_ you. I just took advantage of our special relationship. I am the brain; I let you know the stuff. You guys are the muscle; you do my bidding. Win- win, right?"

The team just stared at him, annoyed and impatient.

"Okay, bad joke. Seriously, though, you guys… where's the trust?"

Silence and blank faces.

"You don't see this, yet, my favourite crime-fighting squad. But you all clearly need my help. I have a tip for you, and it's in your best interest to look into it." The team paused as Rich's voice took a serious tone.

"Why don't _you_ follow the tip?" Zapata asked belligerently.

"I usually enjoy watching, but stuff like this just turns my stomach - it's more your territory than mine," he shrugged and pointed at the bottom of the screen, waving his hands like a magician as coordinates appeared. "Ta dah!"

"How do we know this isn't another trap or a trick to get us to do your dirty work." Weller was unmoved.

Rich frowned and opted for a more aggressive approach. He needed them to take this seriously before things got worse."Get over yourself, Uncle Stu. You're the FBI and something creepy is going down at this location and it _is_ time-sensitive. Regardless of who benefits, it is your job to investigate." He couldn't help adding, "Plus, this is your chance to be the heroes you all claim to be — although in this case the title is probably undeserved."

It was strange to see Rich become so solemn, and his comment was odd. It was enough to make the team sit up and take notice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Patterson queried.

"That would give away everything. Let's just say, you'll know it when you see it."

"Greeaat," Patterson rolled her eyes sarcastically, "I just _love_ vague insinuations that make no sense."

"Fine," Weller stated loudly to end the conversation and placate the obnoxious intruder, "We will maybe make time for it."

"Great. Now was that so hard? Frankly, guys, when I found out about this little tidbit I was shocked by the whole situation and a little disappointed to be honest. You better fix it— But we can discuss that later, I will be in touch."

And the screens went black, "How does he _do_ that?" Patterson groaned.

"I hate that guy," Reade deadpanned, "Are we really going to follow his lead?"

Zapata was practically salivating at the chance at a mystery adventure… even if it did involve Rich Dotcom. "I think we should at least check it out. I mean, his intel is usually pretty good."

Kurt worked his jaw in thought as he weighed their options. Rich was an idiot to be sure— a brilliant idiot with untold connections. It wouldn't hurt to investigate the coordinates a little more closely, besides, if Rich was telling the truth he didn't want to risk the cost of ignoring him.

"Patterson, bring up those coordinates; let's get an idea of what he's gotten us into."

Anticipation filled the air as the team shared smirks. A new case, and this one looked to be anything but boring.

…

* * *

...

Oregon, they were on their way to central Oregon.

Using the coordinates, Patterson pulled up a satellite image of an extremely remote mechanics shop. When she pulled up information on it, however, no records of sales came up. And the building appeared to be owned by a series of shell companies.

A prime location for illegal activity — even if they only had Rich's word to go by.

Grimly, Kurt assembled the team and ordered a plane. They would liaise with an Oregon field office for tactical support upon arrival. He hoped this wasn't one of Rich's wild goose chases—

Still, despite his misgivings, adrenaline stirred Kurt's blood as the plane landed. He hadn't felt this level of energy on a case in a long time. It almost felt like old times, the only thing missing was… never mind.

…

* * *

...

What do you think?

I know a lot of fans were upset about the pregnancy, but I think the baby was the perfect impetus for Kurt to deal with some of his issues before Jane comes back in his life. It really won't play a large role in this story, I promise.

* * *

I am looking ahead and would love to hear your opinions. What would you like the role of secondary characters be in this fic. The characters up for debate are Rich, Borden and Allie.

**Do you want to see more Rich in the coming chapters?

**Should Borden be a mole?

**Would you like to see Allie in a friend role or less visible?


	3. The Missing Piece of the Puzzle

**Thank You all** from the bottom of my heart for your reviews, honestly you have no idea how much I love to hear from you. Your thoughts are so motivating - it's like Christmas everyday (cheesy but true)

I also really appreciate and will try to incorporate your ideas.

Results from your reviews...

\- It looks like we will see more Rich

\- Borden will not be the mole

\- There is a good possibility of Allie in a friend role if it's not awkward

* * *

 **Background building established we can return to our regularly scheduled angst and tension. Buckle up, the team has arrived in Oregon… it's only a matter of time now.**

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* * *

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Chapter 3

The Missing Piece of the Puzzle

...

Weller and the team coordinated with local personnel as they descended on the forested area. Parking at a distance, the two teams infiltrated the woods and scoped out the property. The mechanics garage appeared normal by all accounts. There was a well-used truck parked outside and the interior appeared fully stocked with the necessary tools of the trade.

Weller, Zapata and Reade pulled back from the woods, loaded into the SUV, and started it up. At a leisurely pace, they drove down the quiet, dirt driveway and pulled in front of the building. Adopting a guise of innocence, they pulled heavy jackets over their FBI gear.

Zapata was designated as the least likely to appear threatening, much to her annoyance. She stepped outside of the vehicle, "Hello? Anybody here? Me and my friends are little lost and looking for directions back to the main highway?"

Two men popped their heads out of the building as Reade and Weller casually stepped up beside Zapata. The first, a grey-bearded man in a worn plaid shirt appeared friendly. It was the second man who gave them away— shifty eyes and a nervous expression sounded alarm bells to the team. The poorly concealed weapons didn't help either.

Weller stepped forward; he used wide gestures and an embarrassed grin to convey a false story of getting lost off the beaten path. As he spun his tale he walked closer to the two men. Once near enough, Weller moved rapidly to disarm one man while Reade used the distraction to attack the other. The two strangers fought back with skill, however, within minutes they were cuffed and on the ground.

Zapata radioed for backup to take custody of the men and to search the surrounding area while her team checked the interior.

The team moved cautiously into the building — no people, no suspicious goods, nothing.

"I swear, Rich was just playing us," Reade scoffed as he circled the shelving, "There is nothing here."

"Exactly," Zapata countered, "There _is_ nothing here. No bills of sale, no vehicles under repair, not even a computer. Something isn't right."

"Guys, come look at this"

Zapata and Reade found Weller standing in front of a shiny, steel door. It was brand new and good quality— it was an anomaly in the dusty and aged mechanics shop. "I think it leads down to a basement."

…

* * *

...

With the men upstairs safely secured with their backup. Weller led Zapata and Reade through the steel door.

It was like entering a new world; the difference was day to night.

Immediately they were hit by a wave of putrid air; they wrinkled their noses at the acrid stench of blood, sweat and vomit. They continued on, warily. Kurt wondered if they were headed into an illegal fighting ring or a human trafficking holding site. In his gut, he knew it could not be good.

The stairwell was dark and the air was frigid and damp against their kevlar gear. They could hear eerie wet dripping and the squeak of rats on the floor below.

As they neared the bottom of the stairs, Kurt signalled a stop— he could hear something. They had entered a large basement area. Against the flickering electric lights they could see a large metal door and a shadowed hallway. The noise was coming from the direction of the door. It was the clanking rattle of metal mingled with the steady murmur of voices. Multiple targets.

Their practiced footsteps were silent on the concrete. Kurt stepped up to the door and silently tested the handle— unlocked. He made eye contact with his team as he gestured them into an attack formation.

He opened the door a crack and peered through the gap — he could make out what looked like three— no four- people in the centre of the room. He turned to Reade and Zapata to wordlessly communicate his findings.

In a smooth motion he pushed the door open, gun at the ready, "Hands up, FBI!"

The scene became clear as three men were startled from their task. As the targets shifted, the team could make out a fourth, hooded person in a tattered jumpsuit. The forlorn figure was dangling limply from the ceiling. The rest of the men all had bloody knuckles and there was a table full of used implements nearby. Torture. _Damn it._

They had stumbled upon some kind of covert hideout or possible black site— why would Rich care about this?

"Hands UP! Drop your weapons!"

Two of the men dropped their tools and raised their hands. But instead of looking at Kurt, they had focused their gaze on the third man, a scruffy brunette that had casually taken a seat atop the nearby metal table. This man looked entirely too comfortable. In fact, he acted like a friendly host ready to greet expected guests.

As awful was it was to admit, Rich was right… it felt creepy.

Reade and Zapata came up on his flanks, guns up, as advanced on the targets.

The leader rose with a congenial smile, holding out his hand to shake, "Assistant Director Weller, so pleased to finally meet you— although I'll admit this was a little unexpected. We haven't been formally introduced, I am Jake Keaton the Assistant Director of the CIA."

The team froze. Damn it, Rich had led them to a black site and possibly a pissing match with the CIA. Typical, just _typical_.

"Assistant Director Keaton, I'm afraid I'm a little too busy for the niceties," Kurt shrugged his shoulders to emphasize the gun in his hands still aimed at Keaton's face. "Do you have ID?"

"Oh of course"

Kurt kept his gun trained on Keaton while he fished for ID. Something about his smarmy blasé attitude didn't sit right with him. It was as if Keaton felt he still had the upper hand.

After proving his credentials, Keaton relaxed against the table again, "Can I ask how you stumbled upon this location. It's not exactly on a need-to-know basis."

"Anonymous tip"

"Naturally"

…

While Kurt engaged Keaton in a verbal sparring match, Reade kept his eye on the two other CIA agents. Zapata started to scrutinize the space; up until this point their team had yet to investigate the last piece of the puzzle. The fourth body. Every once in a while, Keaton and his agents' eyes would dart over to the hooded figure; but other than that, they hadn't acknowledged them.

This person must be important to them. Important enough that the Assistant Director of the CIA had personally taken charge of the interrogation; important enough that the interrogation had to take place in a black site.

She was certain this was the reason that Rich had sent them here. Dotcom had said that the issue was time sensitive; this must be it.

Zapata moved to check on the silent prisoner still swinging from the ceiling; their body drifting in slow circles as the chain twisted. It was a little disconcerting that the victim was unconscious; Zapata hoped that they were unconscious rather than dead...

With a closer look, she could make out a thin, skeletal form and through the torn clothes she could see severe injuries, blood, and deep bruising. It also looked like the prisoner had been doused in freezing water judging by the soaked jumpsuit and large puddle on the floor. The chain had just enough slack for their small, blue toes to make contact with the cold water beneath their feet.

It left a bad taste in her mouth; what a bunch of sick bastards.

Hoping to assess how to loosen the hook and chain, Tasha circled the hanging body. As she passed, something caught her eye through the smeared blood and dirt. She stumbled backwards in horror and disbelief. _No, it couldn't be… No nonono_

 _..._

Kurt was in the middle of a stare-down with Keaton when he heard Zapata gasp and swear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her come at them at a sprint her eyes blazing with adrenaline.

Fists swinging and teeth bared she lunged at Keaton with a shriek of rage, "You sick, BASTARD!"

Kurt reacted instinctively to intervene— he didn't want to cause any more inter-agency friction. Just as her clenched hands made contact with the weasel's smug grin, Kurt dove in and looped his arms around her waist. "Zapata stand down."

She ignored him and continued to kick and flail her arms spitting vitriol at Keaton. Her target chuckled, which only made her struggle harder.

Kurt had never seen Tasha lose control in the field, even Reade looked on with wide-eyed concern. Normally, she kept her rage contained until they were in a safe zone. What could have possessed her to attack the Assistant Director of the CIA?

Kurt flicked his head at Reade to keep his eye on the suspects as he jerked Zapata around to address her poor behaviour. "I said, _stand down_. What is the matter with you — do I need to send you back outside?"

Tasha clutched the front of his vest desperately, as she tried to make her mouth form the words that she had barely begun to believe, "Weller, you don't understand… its —"

"— I suspect your agent might be familiar with my guest," Keaton cut in smoothly.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Kurt's gaze swung to the figure still dangling lifelessly in the centre of the room. As he watched, the chain spun and the body slowly rotated until their back drifted into view.

Loud pressure roared in his ears and his heart began to pound unsteadily as his eyes locked onto his name peeking through a jagged hole in the back of the prisoner's jumpsuit.

Kurt Weller FBI.

An image as familiar to him as the person it belonged to. _But no…_

His breathe froze in his lungs and he swayed against the wall as he realized that the tortured, hooded prisoner… was Jane.

…

* * *

...

I know, believe me, I know… I _am_ so sorry to leave it at such a moment… but it was _too_ perfect to resist.

This was the first scene that I wrote for this story. I couldn't get the image of Kurt recognizing Jane from his tattoo on her back, it just resonated with me and made my heart clench. Hopefully, you feel the same.

Who else loves protective Zapata?

Any good predictions for the team's reaction from this point?

* * *

 **Because this was such a cliff-hanger, I promise that the next one will be doubly long and doubly angsty. Do you forgive me?**


	4. Silence is the Most Powerful Scream

Much longer and angstier just like I promised. We finally get back to Jane's POV.

How does Jane interpret the team's arrival? How are they going to get her out of there? Hmmm… Let the dark angst descend.

...

* * *

...

Chapter 4

Silence is the Most Powerful Scream

...

Jane's mind was firmly ensconced in her safe haven - she hadn't surfaced back into reality for days. There was no need. Here she was safe. Here she could ignore the pain.

In her mind, Jane was resting on a couch and reading a book. Her dream haven was so fixed in her mind- so vivid, that she could almost feel the plush fabric beneath her and touch the crisp pages in her hand.

Jane's grip on the fantasy was not absolute, however. As much as she wanted to read a pleasant story, the words on the pages were sickening and scary. The words in the book were a portal to the reality she fought so hard to avoid.

She read…

…

 _Jane couldn't see from underneath the black hood — it blanketed her in darkness like a shroud. Not for the first time she wondered how long she would live. Her lack of sight made her other senses all the more acute. Her body was limp, in too much pain to fight anymore. If she could sob, she would._

 _Keaton's CIA goons had moved from chains to fists. Each punch sent her body swinging; the slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the empty room. Her hands were tied above her head. She was defenceless. Not that she would have reacted anyway; what was the point. She couldn't escape and the suffering never ended._

 _"_ _Come on, Pet," Keaton threatened sweetly, "Just one sound and I might even let you sleep."_

 _The Assistant Director circled Jane's suspended body, letting his finger trail across her collarbone and around her back. He always put his hands on her — like he wanted to make sure she knew he was nearby and that he could kill her if he wanted to._

 _As if she could forget. As if she would really care._

 _Jane refused to react to his tainted touch; she kept her head down and her face blank. She wasn't here — this was a dream. She was drifting… drifting… listening to the waves…_

 _"_ _No? Not even a little scream?… What a shame."_

 _Keaton disappeared from view. She had a vague idea that he had left the room and returned shortly after. Jane felt the familiar tension as she sensed his sinister presence slink behind her and then… COLD!_

 _Her back bowed in agony as frigid water soaked her skin and plummeted to the floor below. The infinite cuts and scars on her body burned and chills ran through the rest of her. It was good that she had insulated her mind so far away or she might have reacted — she might have even given him the scream he was so desperate for. Instead she gave him nothing. Not a peep._

 _The water stung and sliced through her open wounds… still, it was better than the vinegar he used last time._

 _Jane pushed her mind farther from the basement. She didn't feel her toes and fingers turn into ice cubes or the clammy material of her jumpsuit chafe against her skin. She didn't feel the water dripping from the cloying hood making it difficult to breathe or the raised goosebumps on her arms. Nothing. She felt nothing._

 _She was nothing._

 _He yanked her head back hard by her hair, "SPEAK! So help me, Jane, I will make you talk before —" he paused and his eyes darted to the ceiling. "I heard something."_

 _All of a sudden the door slammed open and she heard, "Hands up, FBI!"_

 _Jane's heart stuttered, she knew that voice as well as her own. It couldn't be… how did he… Why?_

 _…_

…She slammed the book shut.

Bringing her knees up to her chin Jane hugged her body close; a familiar hole gaped wide in her chest. She stared at the book. Had she conjured up a fantasy within a fantasy? Had hallucinations blended with reality? She pressed her forehead hard against her knees as she tried to think. Dare she trust that it was true?

She had to know. Jane had to see if they were really there.

With a whimper she stood from the couch. Spine painfully straight and arms clenched at her sides she walked silently through her safe haven to the hidden door at the end of the hall. With a deep breath for courage Jane slowly unlocked each of the bolts that secured her mental fortress and eased the door open.

A staircase leading into a dark chasm yawned before her as she descended into hell. With each step closer to reality Jane could feel her body transform; the lacerations, bruises and burns throbbed and stung viciously. With every footfall, her stomach shrunk and churned. With each inch, her bones and muscles cried in torment. Her wraithlike body became wet and shivering.

On shaking legs she barely made it down the stairs. Each movement was agony as she resurfaced in reality.

…

* * *

...

She could hear them talking. It was them… her former team. She could hear the sassy snark of Zapata and the rational Reade. She could hear the gravelly rumble of Weller as he talked to Keaton.

A raw, almost desperate sound rose in Jane's throat and formed on her lips — the first sound she had uttered in months… And then reality set in and she choked it back.

She knew better than to speak. She knew better than to rush to conclusions.

Jane bit her tongue and listened. It was them, she was sure of it. But no one had mentioned her name… they hadn't acknowledged her presence… they didn't seem to know who Keaton was… it was like they didn't know…— _Oh God… they had no idea._

She clamped her teeth viciously on her lips stop from crying. They were here… but they weren't here _for her_. It was just some cruel twist of fate; like everything in her life. They might not have even known this was a black site until this moment— no idea that she was held at this location at all.

What a _fool_. All that cry would have gotten her was a front row seat to their triumph and revulsion at discovering her fallen state.

Jane mentally catalogued her injuries; at least her former team would have ample proof that the CIA didn't shirk their duty. They could have been nothing but pleased.

Bringing attention to her pitiful presence would only have given her one last chance to truly experience their hatred and rejection as they left her here… again. Left her in the hands of Keaton, who would eagerly take advantage of her cracked facade and wring every last scream from her throat until there was nothing left to give… until she was truly nothing but a shadow.

 _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course they wouldn't be here if they knew this was your black site._ _You committed an unforgivable crime. They hate you — why would they save you? People like you don't deserve to be rescued. You knew you weren't wanted. You knew that no one would ever come looking for you. This is what hope brings you… despair._

Jane thought she had moved past naive expectations. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Jane's thoughts flatlined. Her bruised spirit wrapped its arms around herself and huddled in the corner of her haven; she mentally rocked herself back and forth until the crying stopped. She refused to acknowledge the sound of footsteps coming towards her…

...

* * *

...

As if in a trance, Kurt walked slowly up to the hooded figure. This was a nightmare— it couldn't be real, it just couldn't be happening.

With trembling hands he grasped the coarse fabric and tugged it away. Matted black curls met his frantic gaze as the dark clothe fluttered useless from his numb fingers. Reaching forward, he cautiously cupped her chin and tilted the dirty and bruised face up to meet his own.

Green eyes — impossibly big and vacant green eyes… Jane's eyes. On Jane's face. But so… unlike hers. They were empty… lifeless. She looked right through him.

"Jane?" His breathe caught and choked.

No reaction - no glimmer of recognition. Awake and alive… but not present.

Her face was cold to the touch. Chunks of hair were plastered against Jane's swollen cheeks and her lashes were spiky and frozen. His thumb tenderly traced the frozen tear tracks that streaked her dirty face. His Jane. How could this be…

Jane's head lolled out of his gentle grip and her chin dropped back down to her chest.

 _How did this happen? How could this have happened? Had she been here the whole time? He took in what he could see of her starved, battered body. Fury rushed through his veins — fury at them and himself._

 _What had they done to her? Why did he let them take her? He never wanted this, not this. This was never supposed to happen — not to her. Anything but this… Jane. Oh God, Jane._

Guilt roiled in his stomach and weighed down his limbs like lead. His fingertips barely grazed her hair. He needed to… What? Kurt searched his mind for a proper reaction — it was all so surreal. He prayed this was a nightmare that he could still wake from until Reade's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the world.

Kurt snapped to attention and met Reade's contorted grimace of disgust and nausea. Beyond Reade's right ear, in the background Weller's gaze caught Keaton's smug expression of… pride. _Pride?_ Guilt shoved to the back of his mind as irrepressible anger took the fore. Confusion, self-loathing and shock all channeled into finding answers and punishing whomever was responsible.

Shaking with barely controlled rage, Kurt shoved out of Reade's hold and stalked over to Keaton. How _dare_ this sack of shit smile at him as if they were friends— how _dare_ he take pride in this horrific display.

His voice was low and deadly through clenched teeth,"You will get her down. Right. _Now_."

…

* * *

...

Jake Keaton could not believe his luck. All these months with Jane Doe and he had gotten nada… zip… no intel. But he had to admit, at this point she had become more than a subject— she had become his favourite hobby; almost an obsession really.

Some might view the arrival of FBI interference as a stumbling block in his plans but he saw it as a ripe opportunity. If anyone could make his Jane talk, it was her former team.

"Now, Weller," Keaton raised his hands in mock innocence, "There's no need to be angry. I was only doing my job."

"Your… _job_?" Kurt repeated with deadly fury.

"Naturally. She has information on a dangerous threat to our nation and I am in charge of extracting that information. Jane and I have been spending so much time together; four months sure flies. She's such a resilient little thing, it's a shame that she doesn't like to speak to me— she doesn't even scream anymore. No matter how hard I try…"

Kurt's restraint snapped and he threw himself at Keaton. With a snarl, he pounded his fist into that smirking face with a satisfying snap. Kurt slammed the assistant director back into the table and ground his hands into the bastards neck until Keaton's face grew flushed and then florid red.

He could feel familiar arms and voices trying to pull him away but Kurt wasn't going to let go… he wasn't going to let Keaton say another word.

Reade bellowed in his ear, "Let GO! Weller! You have to let him go! He's the AD of the CIA, do you want to go to prison, man?" He ignored it. "How can you raise your baby or help Jane from prison?" That caught Kurt's attention. _Damn it._

Kurt slowly relaxed his grip to allow Keaton a gasping breath and snarled in his ear, " _Now_ , get her down."

Keaton coughed roughly as he tried to regain his composure. He forced his body to relax into a swagger and adopted a cocky expression. He refused to be cowed by his rival; he was certain he could still gain the advantage.

Keaton brushed past Weller and circled Jane to reach the pulley mechanism. He searched his pocket for the tiny key and turned the lock to release the tension. He watched with a smile as Jane's body collapsed on the floor with a satisfying thump and a small splash.

Jane shuffled her limbs and automatically attempted to stand but Keaton shoved her back down to her knees with a harsh grip on her shoulder. A shoulder he knew was swollen from multiple dislocations. He ignored the swears and growls of protest from the peanut gallery. Keaton ran his fingers through Jane's hair and yanked her head back until her bruised face was in full view.

"You think you can command me, Weller, but _you_ gave her to me. She was transferred into _my_ custody. She is _mine_."

Kurt bristled at Jane's vulnerable position - her wrists still cuffed and her wet body hunched and inert— but Reade and Zapata each had a firm grip on him. He needed to use his brain, not his fists.

"Don't act like you have the high ground here, Keaton. Your behaviour here has been in direct violation of international and national laws and an affront to our country's principles of rights and justice. I am certain with a little investigation we will find evidence of further illicit behaviour. Black sites aren't supposed to exist on US soil. If I am forced to report this incident, it won't reflect well on the CIA or on you." He raised his eyebrows threateningly, "Now, I require Jane Doe for matters within my jurisdiction. Return _my_ asset, and we will leave quietly."

"Inter-agency cooperation and principles of rights and justice, how quaint. I'll make a deal with you Assistant Director Weller, forget this place and I will let you borrow my little toy — I may have broken it a little though." He gave Jane's head another painful jerk.

"Okay, now let her go!" Zapata couldn't watch this anymore. She was torn between throwing up or crying and she couldn't rule out either of them at this point.

Keaton gazed down at Jane thoughtfully for a moment, "This actually works out rather well. Once you're done with her and get her to start talking again, send her back to me. I'll be in touch soon... So much to look forward to." His evil chuckled echoed eerily off the concrete walls.

Keaton knelt down in front of Jane and roughly grabbed her bloodless hands to unlock the cuffs. With his back to the FBI he whispered confidently, "Goodbye, Pet, we'll be seeing each other soon. I have no doubt that your old friends will get what they want from you… and then they'll send you back to me just like they did before. Oh, the fun we'll have."

Keaton rounded up his men and they exited the building. On his way out, he gave into the temptation to whistle a happy tune… he would have Jane back in no time.

Kurt fought every instinct in his body to let that foul man leave the room unscathed. But his priority was Jane. He radioed to the upstairs team to release the CIA agents and to inventory the shop. He especially wanted a thorough investigation of the basement and updates as quickly as possible.

He needed to know what the hell happened here.

…

* * *

...

Jane witnessed the exchange at a distance, as if through a fog. She wasn't even a person to them anymore… she was an "asset" to be negotiated. Her custody bartered like a commodity or weapon's trade. _Oh, I'm was a weapon all right— a weapon of mass destruction, watch out, the people around me are bound to drop dead._

The loss of the cuffs gave her the faintest hint of freedom… no matter how elusive. Jane only wished she was strong enough to take advantage of it. Keaton's whispered promises told her that her time with the FBI would be of short duration; she wasn't safe in their hands.

She was never safe.

Her skull felt like it had been shattered, leaving her half-blind. Jane saw blurred images of Kurt, Reade and Zapata as they hovered around her — touched her, spoke to her… She didn't like it. She didn't understand it…

As much as Jane yearned to lean into a familiar embrace and take a helping hand, that life didn't belong to her anymore. She couldn't trust people who hated her. She didn't have friends or a family… or the hope of ever getting any. She had broken trust— done the unforgivable. She would never have that again, nor did she deserve it.

She let the freezing water seep into her bones as she huddled in a protective ball. Jane just wanted everything to stop. It wasn't until Weller's words "leave" and "back to New York" echoed in her ears that she forced herself to move. The promise of escape and the return to the only familiar place she knew, was enough to bring her out of hiding.

Her face was a practiced mask but she was present as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Jane's world had narrowed to pain — intense, searing pain — and the stairs to freedom.

Impassively, Jane ignored the outstretched hands and soft, reassuring murmurs; she was numb to the large jacket that fell over her shoulders.

She wasn't going to be naive ever again— she could only rely on herself.

On shaky legs she leaned heavily on the railing as her frozen feet stumbled slowly up each step. Reade led the way while Weller and Zapata followed immediately behind her. It was stupid; she was hardly in any condition to escape and it's not as if she would expect them to actually catch her if she fell.

Jane half expected to get to the top of the stairs and have the door slam shut in her face. Her stomach twisted in knots at the fear that this might be a joke or psychological tactic designed to break her will. It would probably work.

…

When the door opened, Jane pushed past the sharp bite of the rocks on her stinging feet and the countless injuries on her body as she desperately made her way into the open air. She tamped down the rising feelings of shame as she saw her filthy body exposed in the light of day.

The sunlight was blinding and beautiful. She basked in the warmth and light, tilting her face up and holding out her hands to savour the lost sensation. The heat was luxurious against her soaked skin. Fresh air and birds and colours. This was so much better than her dreams; this was _life_.

Jane held onto the feeling as long as she could, until she felt the presence of the team come up behind her. It was time to face the music.

She wasn't fooled, this was only a transfer— and a temporary one at that. Jane was exchanging agency hands, but she was still a prisoner. She was still the enemy. She should act accordingly before they forced her to do so.

With all the quiet dignity she could muster, Jane let her frail body fall to her knees. Tears prickled the back of her eyes as she turned her face away from the sun and raised her hands slowly to place them on the back of her head.

The abrasive gravel dug into the burns and cuts on her legs and her shoulders screamed at the position. But she kept her face blank, as she waited patiently for them to cuff her for transport.

Jane allowed herself one more shuddering breath before she let the illusion of freedom slip between her fingers.

…

* * *

...

Thoughts? Hopefully it was worth the wait.

I was especially excited about how some of these scenes turned out - they have been germinating in my brain for a while. The first scene (concept of Jane perceiving reality through a book), when Jane realizes the team is there (and chokes back her cry for help) and the last scene (tragic image of her waiting to be handcuffed by Kurt... again) were just screaming to be written. Did anything stand out for you? loved or hated?

Any scenes you want to request?


	5. Fool Me Once Fool Me Twice

WOW. Everyone's responses were AWESOME! Thank you again! I don't want anyone to doubt how much all the reviews/follows/favourites mean to me - I appreciate the time you take to respond to the story.

Here we go. A lot of you wanted to see the team's reaction to the end of the last chapter. Hopefully this meets expectations. It starts as Keaton leaves the room and they are left alone with Jane…

...

* * *

…

Chapter 5

Fool me Once…Fool me Twice

...

Once Keaton left, Kurt relaxed his posture and allowed his face to soften. Concern and grief coloured every facet of his expression and stance as he turned is full attention to the silent woman at his feet. Thank God Keaton had let her go— if he hadn't…

 _Don't think about that; Jane is in our custody now. Keaton can't touch her anymore— she is safe. Damaged… but safe. No thanks to me._

Kurt would break that man before he _ever_ let him come within five feet of Jane ever again.

Jane was still on the concrete floor, swaying on her knees and flexing her hands to restore blood flow. He had no idea what Keaton had said to her, but it was undoubtably designed to scare her as much as possible. Sick with guilt, Kurt tried to catch her eyes and speak to her but Jane stared right through him. The team surrounded her with reassuring words and helping hands, hoping that she would snap out of it, respond to them, or at least make a sound. But, nothing.

Reade knelt down to try to assess Jane for critical injuries that would require immediate care but she flinched away from his tender prodding. Jane resisted their efforts and curled in on herself. She huddled in a ball, shivering, in the freezing water.

They wanted to help— _needed_ to help her…but they had no idea where her mind was at. At this point, they didn't even know if she recognized them.

Each second that passed made the guilt thump louder and louder in Kurt's ears. This broken woman; she was almost unrecognizable from the Jane he knew only four short months before. He tried not to think about what brought her to this state— now was not the time. Now, he needed to get Jane back home and cared for and safe. Because if he let himself wonder…

 _No. To help Jane, I need to stay focused. If I let myself dwell on how much I have failed her, I might just fall apart. Jane needs me to be a leader._

Kurt's hand reached out to stroke Jane's hair, but it dropped before he made contact. She clearly didn't like to be touched. Jane desperately needed to be dry and warm. If she wouldn't let him touch her… then he needed to get her up, "Jane, it's Kurt. Please listen to me, I know you are in pain. We are going to take you back to New York. I promise, you are safe…"

Her huddled form jerked as he spoke; somehow those words got through to her. _Thank God_.

Jane slowly lurched to her feet and shuffled towards the stairs. She brushed past our hands and shrugged off the jacket that Zapata draped over her wet clothes. Jane moved like a ghost; like she didn't belong to this world. It was terrifying, like she wasn't even there.

Reade scooted in front of her to make a clear path while Zapata and Kurt hovered anxiously behind her. Jane's legs trembled like a baby deer's and she leaned so heavily on the railing. Kurt barely restrained himself from scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to safety. And he would have too... if he didn't think it would do more harm than good.

Once they made it up the stairs, Kurt watched as she hobbled her way onto the shop floor. He gestured for the upstairs agents to let her pass as he shadowed her steps. He watched her and prayed for some sign that their Jane still existed under that unnervingly empty mask — anything to give him some hope that she could come back from this.

Kurt told himself convincingly that, 'Jane had a will of iron. Such a strong woman would have an equally strong defence mechanism. She had to be in there somewhere… she just _had_ to be.'

He watched as Jane moved through the doorway onto the rocky pathway surrounding the shop. "Jane, wait! Your feet…" but she neither acknowledged his words nor reacted to them in the slightest; she continued limp out the door. Kurt winced and paced behind her as he watched a spotty trail of blood form in her wake.

...

Jane reached a patch of sunlight and simply froze. The team watched in awe as her face relaxed, almost childlike in wonder, and tilted back to feel the warmth. He, Reade and Zapata each felt some of the tension lift form their shoulders— it was a genuine personal response, a flicker of the true Jane. It was a sign that gave him hope.

It was also a sight that sickened him to the core. Jane probably hadn't seen the sun for months and in the light of day… there wasn't an inch of exposed flesh that wasn't damaged. Her bony silhouette, exposed by the sun through her shredded jumpsuit, left him reeling.

Kurt sucked in deep breathes of air as he tried to wrench his violently protective response under control because anger was the last thing she needed. He locked his knees and soldered his arms to his sides to keep himself still and non-threatening. He would allow her as much time in the sun as she wanted, at this point he would lasso the damn thing if he thought it would make her smile.

But the fragile moment of peace burst only minutes later. Jane's took a deep breathe and then her face drew back into that terrible, emotionless mask.

He and the team watched in confusion and then sinking dread as she knelt on the road and put her hands on the back of her head. She clearly expected them to cuff her. It knocked the wind right out of him. He saw her tragically frail figure stiffly contorted in submission and his mind was swept back months earlier when he'd roughly cuffed her shaking, smoke-streaked arms. Then, her face had been so transparent and her heartache so achingly clear on her face. Now, it was like a stone.

 _I can't breathe._ W _hat must she think of us? How can I even try to explain that this was never meant to happen._

Kurt saw her posture stiffen as he walked up behind her. He was going to stand her back up… try to explain… to reassure… but as he got closer all he could see was the pallid skin of her bony wrists exposed in the sun; they were so mottled with swollen bruised and chafed raw until they were purple-black.

The feeling of helplessness was almost debilitating. His hands curled at his sides trying to resist the urge to touch her again. It was one thing to see it in the darkness of a basement and another to see— up close and personal— her bloody feet, gaunt face and raw wrists…

And those were only the parts of her that were visible.

The CIA hurt Jane. They broke her. And that hurt him inside somewhere, it broke something in him that he hadn't known existed. Keaton was right— he _had_ given her over to them. He had given them a vibrant, fierce warrior and now... she was gone… a shadow. And it was his fault as much as theirs.

This sickening scene was a direct result of his actions and he had never felt a burden more keenly… not even the loss of Taylor.

Reade put his hand reassuringly on his shoulder and Kurt felt Zapata sidle up beside him and slip an arm tightly around his back, "We will help her get through this; let's just get her home."

Together they knelt in front of Jane and waited, guilt-stricken, until she lowered her hands from her head and awkwardly stood. They cleared a path and gestured her carefully into the vehicle. Once inside, they ensconced her body in a pile of blankets.

…

* * *

...

Jane stared out the window of the SUV.

She was so tired, it had been so long since her body was allowed to sleep… so long since she had been this comfortable. The blankets were heavy and warm and her eyelids sagged… but she shouldn't— _couldn't_. Bad things can happen to you when you're vulnerable in sleep… Rats, drowning, electricity, burning…

The team had soft voices and cautious hands. They wanted her to trust them. They wanted her to believe that they weren't a threat and that she was safe.

But she wasn't stupid — she couldn't afford to be. The FBI had sent her to that unending nightmare— that hell where she had died a thousand deaths. They wanted her punished — they had wanted her to suffer.

The real question was, 'What had changed?'

 _Look for the ulterior motive._

Jane ignored the dark spots that streaked across her vision and tried to focus her exhausted brain.

The team hadn't been certain she was imprisoned at that specific black site location - but once they found her, they decided to take her back with them. There had to be a reason that they had changed their mind and taken her with them instead of leaving her there to rot.

 _They took advantage of the opportunity._

They must want something from her. They probably wanted what the CIA wanted… "the truth," as if she knew what that was. They probably wanted a more detailed description of her sins: about why she pretended to be Taylor, about the group that sent her to them as well as her involvement in Mayfair's demise.

And once they had squeezed the truth out of her, their hatred will be once again justified and complete. I's dotted and T's crossed, they would finally be done with her and they would send her back to the CIA. Just like Keaton said.

Jane's fevered brain pondered the scenario from a new angle.

 _It could be even worse than that. They could be working with the CIA._

The CIA wanted information… and she hadn't delivered. Now the CIA is just trying something new to break her. This is just a ruse— a new tactic designed to lull her into a false sense of security so that she would speak.

The rescue could have been a setup from the beginning, an elaborate charade to trick her. Jane was certain the team was more than willing to play along.

 _This wasn't a rescue — it was a set-up._

Either way… as soon as she spoke— it was back into Keaton's hands. Either way, the team hated her. Either way, she would end up destroyed.

Jane almost pitied all their hard work; she was a poor prize for their efforts. She didn't have a lot to offer them. They were the victims of her choices and they deserved the truth from her. Jane carried the burden of her guilt willingly. It was all her fault; she had betrayed them and killed their friend and mentor. She was the one that ruined things. She was the one to blame.

But as much as she owed them honesty, she had no plans to reveal the truth to them yet. She just…couldn't speak. The thought of returning made her stomach heave and her soul cringe. She couldn't go back into the CIA's hands. She owed them the truth, but she was a coward.

 _Weak. Weak. Weak._

She was too weak, a shadow of her former strength and ability. When she was strong enough to escape then she would speak. When she was strong enough to take a stand against the group responsible for her tattoos. When she was stronger, then she would tell them the truth. Only then. And then she would disappear.

 _They'll never take me alive. Never._

Turning to look out the window… the endless trees morphed into an endless sea. Jane fought to stay alert but her sleep-deprived body soon nodded off to a fitful sleep.

…

Kurt watched Jane in the rearview mirror.

It was such a strange turnaround for him. Only days ago, he had thought he had gotten past Jane Doe. He had gone to therapy, he had dissected the past in great detail and he had placed Jane in a neat box in his mind labelled "Past — Do Not Open."

And now she had re-entered his life under such sudden and tragic circumstances. Kurt had blamed Jane for so many of his recent problems, he had cast her as the villain in his woeful tale. But while he was enjoying a new position and whining on Borden's couch, she had been brutalized within inches of her life.

She was the victim, not him. And _he_ was probably the villain in her story, him and that rat-bastard Keaton.

Kurt peered at her again; it was clear that she was afraid to sleep. Every time her body nodded off, she jerked herself awake. It took almost an hour until her body finally succumbed. The team watched her fitful slumber for several minutes before they felt safe enough to speak.

"How did this happen?" Zapata seethed, her acidic tongue a contrast to the gentle care she used to tuck the blankets closer around Jane. "I mean seriously, how could they just take her and do _that_."

Reade shook his head with disgust, "Jane was in their custody. She has no identity or even a citizenship. There was no one to question what they were doing or wonder where she was."

"Except me. I should never have let them take her. I should have pushed harder for more information from the CIA." Kurt's voice was bleak with self-recrimination."

"Except _us_. We all should have done more," Zapata emphasized with shame.

Reade felt the guilt clawing up his stomach but he knew this situation wasn't black and white. "But we had no idea this would happen — Jane was an imposter. The CIA wouldn't be questioning her if they didn't think she was guilty of something. I mean, Weller, your instincts told you to arrest her— she lied to us. Right?"

"The reason that I arrested Jane, was because I caught her in a lie. Taylor was dead, yet Jane had said that she remembered fishing with us _as Taylor_ …"

"Fishing?" Zapata cut in, "We arrested her because she lied about fishing? That's a bullshit reason to send her into the hands of the enemy, Weller."

"At the time — it felt like she was the only candidate to be the mole that setup Mayfair. She came out of nowhere with all these skills, her story about the night Carter disappeared never lined up, and she was never Taylor Shaw. It was enough to at least bring her in for questioning. The CIA wasn't supposed to take her… I never wanted…"

 _But you did. You said it yourself— you wanted her punished for lying to you. She made you care, she made you doubt yourself, and she wasn't Taylor. She was a big fake and you fell for it. You wanted her to suffer and you got your wish. This is all. your. fault. Now you have to make it right._

"But it happened— and now look at her… what are we going to do? We should never have let her go? Do you think she can come back from this?"

The team debated the issues back and forth on the way to the airport. It was a disheartening conversation that had no answers… it only went round and round in a twisted knot. Because there were no answers— no solutions… not yet.

They gradually became aware that Jane was shaking. Not like a seizure, just a tremor that ran under skin and electrified every part of her with movement. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her body shuddered and shook.

Reade watched Jane with conflicted eyes, "I hate to say this, but I think we have to sedate Jane to get her the rest of the way home."

Zapata went on the attack, "No! We can't! We have no idea what she has been through the last four months — we are not going to force a decision like that on her. That would just be another violation—"

"—How else are we going to get her on and off the plane and into the NYO. She is a zombie. She has no shoes and her feet are a mess. She won't let us touch her. It is the best option and the safest _for Jane_."

"Do it." Weller ended the argument. It felt wrong— it _did_ feel like a violation. But he couldn't let her walk on those bloody feet and he was afraid that she would hurt herself more trying to get away from them.

Opening up the emergency kit - Reade slipped out a tranquilizer and injected Jane. Her body, trapped in the throes of a nightmare, stilled immediately. They reached the airport only minutes later.

…

* * *

...

With the plane ready to depart, Kurt opened the door to the back seat. With shaking hands, he unbuckled the seat belt and plucked Jane from the now sodden blankets to rewrap her in fresh, warm ones. He curled his arms under her knees and behind her back and, with aching slowness, held her against his chest.

The moment Kurt held her secure, he could finally breathe. He pressed a kiss against Jane's forehead with an inaudible promise.

 _Everything will be okay. I will make everything okay._

Jane was too light and her bones as delicate as a bird's in Kurt's hands. Her hair was damp against his neck as he walked them carefully to the plane and sat down with her still safe in his arms.

"We could lay her down on bench…" Zapata offered, already moving forward with a pile of pillows and blankets.

"In a little while," Everything and everyone else could go to hell. Kurt doubted he would get a chance to hold her again for a while; he'd be a fool not to sit here and take advantage while he could.

…

Reade watched his leader and friend cradle their lost teammate in his arms. It was tragic and beautiful seeing the fierce look of protection transform Weller's face as he held her gently in his arms. He hated to ruin the moment — but there was one more thing they had to figure out before they got back to New York.

"Weller, the reasons that you arrested Jane still exist. We don't know who she is or why she was sent to us. We don't know her connection to Carter's death or Mayfair's disappearance. She could still be a traitor." He cringed as he saw Weller's hands tighten around his delicate cargo but Reade continued, "When we get back, how are we going to treat her?"

"What do you mean," wondered Zapata.

"I mean, is she a suspect or a teammate?"

His words sent the cabin of the plane into silence. A note of heavy contemplation hung in the air between them all. The answer to that question would define Jane's treatment at the NYO…

Weller looked down at Jane's angular features, barely discernible under months of dirt and abuse. To him, her designation was obvious, "She's a victim."

…

* * *

...

This chapter took on a life of its own - a lot of team reflection and reaction.

I am moving forward with protective Zapata and a (painfully necessarily) rational Reade. I feel like they almost play the role of two angels on Kurt's shoulders — the voice of emotion and the voice of logic.

* * *

It is almost December which means... it's getting closer to **Christmas**! Yippee! And I am feeling the need for some festive one-shots. Who is with me?

If anyone writes one or has any good prompts/ideas for one let me know. Somehow, I can't stop toying with the potential of mistletoe for our favourite couple… very intriguing…


	6. Deja Vu?

In honour of Blindspot Wednesday, I am putting out another chapter sooner than I expected.

* * *

I have gotten some great ideas for festive one-shots —I am so inspired, keep them coming guys. I promise (Promise!) I won't neglect this story if I write some holiday stories.

When it comes to the imagery for this chapter - a lot of it comes from the first episode of season 1 if you need a point of reference.

* * *

Stay tuned below, I really need some of your input moving ahead.

...

* * *

...

Chapter 6

Deja Vu?

...

Jane came to consciousness in stops and starts. The world swirled around her as her cloudy brain fought to hold onto wakefulness. She knew she was somewhere else. Everything smelled sterile and she was reclined on something soft and unfamiliar. She needed to focus - to figure out what had changed but she felt groggy.

Drugged. She had been drugged.

The bright electric lights burned her eyes when she opened them and sluggishly she tried to block it out with her arms but she couldn't. Squinting, she could see her arms strapped in padded restraints to the side rails of the bed.

Bright lights. Restraints. Jane's chest erupted, a thousand moments of terror and pain suspended her heartbeat and stopped her breath _. S_ he clenched her eyes; it was all just a dream and she was still in the CIA's clutches. Except… she couldn't hear the endless track of screaming noise, she cautiously opened one eye— then the other. The CIA had never provided a bed or blanket before... and was this a hospital bed?

The world finally stopped turning and Jane's eyes adjusted to the lights. The room was familiar — it was the medical facility in the NYO. The same white tile and shiny, metal desks… the same computers and setup. The same sanitized smell. It was the first room she remembered after her life began in Time Square. _How poignant_.

It wasn't a dream. She was in FBI custody. The bitter tang of residual fear still burned in her throat as she tested the strength of the cuffs. This prison may have a bed and blanket, but it was still a prison.

 _And she was still a prisoner_

 _And she was still alone_

She fought her feelings of disappointment with ruthless intensity. What did she expect? Of course, the team had better things to do than sit at the bedside of a hated adversary. She should be grateful they had deigned to allow her medical aide.

 _Stupid. Ignorant. They hate you, remember. They only brought you back as a means to an end— not to hold your hand._

A couple nurses bustled into the room with a tray of instruments, "Good, the sedative has worn off." They were unfamiliar.

Jane's face heated as she felt the nurses' stares as they assessed her but she fought any outward signs of distress. They checked her vitals and dressings with cool efficiency. Jane's skin crawled with discomfort at the clinical ministrations. She didn't like anyone touching her, not anymore. She wanted to pull her body of reach… but she couldn't. She wanted to slap their hands away… but she was restrained.

 _They're going to do whatever they want anyway. Save your strength for whatever comes next._

The nurses explained the procedures that the doctors had performed on her while she was under. They were also careful to talk her through their actions as they ran test after test on her… but Jane tuned out them out. Their words were only white noise as Jane tried to stay calm and breathe evenly. After she refused to respond, the nurses merely positioned her as needed… like she was a doll rather than a person.

Jane blanked out most of it.

 _Hadn't they learned everything they could from her the first time. A year ago they had run, what felt like, every test in the book on her body. What more evidence could they garner now?_

…

After they left, Jane took the opportunity to survey her body with clinical detachment. She glanced down, the sight of tight skin over bones was unsurprising yet vaguely disturbing. Her forehead creased as she factored in the necessary time it would take to build back her strength and muscle. How strong would she have to be to chance an escape? How long could she dare to wait?

It was strange to see her body so clean. Not much of her skin was visible due to the swathes of bandages. But the parts that Jane could see, were a rainbow of tattoos, florid bruises and half-healed burns.

Her body was hooked up to several monitors and an IV stand. Idly curious she watched the numbers change but didn't care enough to theorize any meaning from the results.

The absence of pain was almost hallucinatory. Jane was so used to using the constant agony as a way to ground her body in reality… now her thoughts felt… unfocused.

Jane noticed that she was wearing a hospital gown. Someone had undressed her… washed her… clothed her. Her stomach roiled and churned. She tried not to shake at the thought of someone touching her without her knowledge or consent.

No choices. She had no choices- not even the right to exercise control over her own body. Jane was too tired to rationalize what was done, she couldn't breathe— couldn't think.

Like a reflex, Jane's thoughts found their way back to her mind's haven. Jane's eyes glazed and she breathed a sigh of relief at the imagined sight of green walls and the smell of salt spray…

…

* * *

...

"But no… That can't be right. They're not supposed to… No." Pattersons' blue eyes watered as she struggled to cope with the news.

They had waited to break the news to Patterson in person knowing that it would be difficult to share over the phone. No, that's a lie— none of them knew how to tell her, none of them knew which words to use… so they stalled.

"Four months in a CIA black site… and she… she was… tortured? Are you sure?" her anguished face was piercing. "Oh God. This is all my fault— I should have tried harder to get more information. I should have… I should have…done something. Anything."

Patterson's heart wrenching reaction emphasized the helplessness the team was already feeling. Jane was still sedated and in the hands of the medics on the floor below — she was out of their hands. Frankly, the medical team had booted them off the floor when their hovering got in the way. Kurt had tried to pull some strings using his rank, but the medical team stood firm.

Patterson was breaking down, "I know she can't be okay… but is it really bad?— It's bad, isn't it… it has to be…"

The truth was to shameful to speak out loud. Reade and Zapata met her anxious face with pained, grim expressions. Weller fixated on the wall, his jaw ticked aggressively. Patterson looked at each of their faces one by one.

She needed them to say it out loud; she wouldn't believe it until they said it.

Kurt bit the bullet. He was the leader, it was his responsibility to say the words, "Jane's in the medical centre right now. It's not good, it looks like she experienced severe torture in the hands of the CIA. Right now, she's sedated and they are being as thorough as possible. I made it absolutely clear that she should receive the best care."

Patterson's lips trembled as she rose unsteadily to her feet, "I need to see her. I need to apologize."

Reade reached over and grabbed her hands to stall her emotional stampede out of the room. "Patterson, she's— she's not very responsive. She may not… ummm"

"What do you mean?"

Zapata took up the reins, "She hasn't spoken since we found her and she hasn't been very reactive to her surroundings. We're not sure if she even knows _we_ rescued her."

"Oh"

With nervous knees, annoying pen clicking and agitated fist clenching, they sat in tense silence while they waited for news.

...

No one expected the news to be kind. Still, when the results from the medical team and investigative reports from the black site arrived, they were bitter pills to swallow.

The medical report stated…

 _Findings showed that Jane Doe was malnourished and dehydrated to a dangerous degree. Compared to earlier tests from last year, they have found a concerning loss of body fat and muscle tissue. Intravenous nutrition is recommended temporarily and a regimented diet plan is required until patient can handle solid food._

 _X-rays provide evidence of recent trauma especially in the torso and extremities. There is further proof rib fractures and repeated shoulder dislocation._

 _External examination showed extreme bruising at staggered levels of healing suggesting regular, heavy beatings. A high amount of electrical burns and lacerations coat the whole of the patient's body._

 _Rodent bites are apparent on the patient's legs and feet. Believed to be rat bites. Tested negative for disease infection._

 _Abrasions on the wrists and ankles suggest the patient wore shackles for an extended period of time. The deep level of scarring also could suggest that the shackles were used to hold the patient in stress positions and/or the patient fought the shackles with intensity._

 _Residual symptoms of Acute Respiratory Distress in the form of lung inflammation could indicate several experiences of near-drowning._

 _Some indications of exposure to temporary, extreme cold temperatures in the form of chilblains and blistering._

 _Due to malnourishment, sleep deprivation and dehydration the patient's body has been unable to heal at a proper rate._

 _In conclusion, evidence shows that the patient has experienced systematic physical and possibly psychological abuse for 3-4 months._

 _…_

The team read the report in silence. Before he even finished, Reade reached for a bucket to puke and Zapata and Patterson had clasped shaking hands, already in tears.

Shock crippled Kurt's brain; he gripped the report so hard it was crinkled and ripping in his hands, "Seeing it laid out in a sterile compilation of data… like she was a list of symptoms instead of a person… it's just wrong. Everything about it is wrong. How did she survive four months of this?"

"She _is_ more than a list of injuries; she's strong, Kurt," Zapata rasped out ferociously, "She survived because she is strong. And she can get through this."

"It's sick how they can make it sound so cut and dry — it sucks all the humanity out of it. As if they weren't killing her in slow motion. How did the CIA drag it out for so long?"

Patterson's voice was emotionless as she responded, "The CIA's interrogation tactics were designed to cause extreme distress but not necessarily maim. They wanted her in pain but they didn't want to kill her. They wanted her alive and intact for something."

Zapata slammed her hands down on the table hard, "Well they can go screw themselves, because she aren't touching her again. Right Weller?"

"Of course n—…"

The lights in the room flickered and then went black.

…

* * *

...

Moments later the lights came back and the team turned to see Rich's face was beaming at them from the screen on the wall.

"Ahh Hell, just what we needed," Reade tossed a wadded kleenex at the screen and it hit Rich square in the nose.

Rich was un-phased by the groans of dismay, "Well, I don't love _this_ dynamic. What? No hello?— no 'thank you Rich for the amazing tip?'"

That got a reaction. Half the team started yelling at Rich and the other half swore at him venomously.

Kurt had a bone to pick with nosy bastard, "You want us to be grateful? How dare you, you sick son of a bitch, how could you wait four months to tell us where Jane was? Do you know what she went through? Do you know what they did to her? You left her in hell!"

Rich sat back and shook his head, that was ridiculous. "Umm… Woah, angry Munchkin. Correction. _You_ left her in hell. Seriously, you guys, I only found out about Jane a few days ago. _You_ are the ones that gave her to the CIA in the first place. Honestly, what do you think they were doing— sitting around a campfire singing Kumbaya?" He raised his open hands in a 'duh' position, " _Hello_! They're the CIA!"

Kurt deflated and slumped back in his chair.

"Wow, what's with all the grumpy gills? You got her back didn't you? Why are you sitting around like bumps on a log…"

"Jane isn't talking and she's with the medics now, okay, Einstein," Zapata snapped, "Leave us alone."

"You can't really blame Jane for not talking to you— it's going to take a while to get the good old team chemistry back. After all, you guys had her tortured." he chatted as if it were commonplace, "I had this friend, Gary; I let him take the rap with a few unsavoury types. He never did forgive me… he died- but I'm pretty sure he didn't forgive me… Bad example?"

"Hey! We didn't want her to get tortured" Reade wanted to clarify, "We had no idea where she was."

"Okay… sure, if that's the story you want to go with," Rich raised his eyebrows in sarcastic disbelief, "But that's not the way it looks from where I'm sitting. And I'm pretty sure that Jane would agree with me. You arrested her and gave her to the CIA— what is she supposed to think?"

"No wonder she won't talk to us… She thinks that we knew the whole time. Jane probably hates us," Patterson whispered.

"Awww come on, listen to Doctor Rich… you guys can get through this. Soon things will be back to normal and you guys can be my very own FBI posse again. Fun, right?"

"Not a chance"

"No really, we could make this a regular thing; I help you, you help me. It's a wonder you guys get anything done without me."

"I think it's time to say goodbye, Rich" Kurt deadpanned.

"Fine, I can take a hint. But don't forget that you owe me one…" and the screen went black.

The team sat in silence for a minute, each processing the bomb that Dotcom dropped on them. Somehow, they it had never occurred to them that Jane would think that they _knew_ and _condoned_ the heinous acts of torture she endured…. She must have felt so betrayed— so _alone_.

"We can explain, can't we?" Patterson cut the silence with nervous chatter. "If we tell Jane that we genuinely never wanted this to happen… maybe she'll…"

"— What? Embrace us with open arms," Reade bit out "I don't see her trusting us again any time soon…"

"…And who could blame her." Tasha finished in a resigned whisper.

Kurt straightened in his seat. There had to be a way through this… a way to make this right. "Jane is going to remain in protective custody inside the NYO until she is healthy and safe. We will use that time to prove to her that we are still her team and that she can still trust us. Hopefully, in time…" he finished with a helpless shrug. Honestly, he had no plan.

…

* * *

...

After they completed the tests and a doctor assessed her injuries, Jane was wheeled into a new room. "New" was the wrong term, she had seen this room before as well. This was the first room she had slept in, when in FBI custody, after Times Square.

 _Home, sweet home. Except it had never been hers._

It was a cavernous room with glass windows surveying a beautiful New York skyline. It was empty and cave-like, fitted with nothing but her hospital bed, a side table and a door which led to, what looked like, an equally barren bathroom.

Jane was unstrapped from the bed and left alone in the room with a stern warnings, "Rest. Page us if you need anything and don't push yourself." They exited and her room echoed with the loud click of the lock.

 _Apparently the straps had been for her own safety. Yeah, right. More like they were a security measure, just like that lock on the door. At least she was no longer obligated to believe the lies._

There was an odd twisted symmetry to Jane's return to the NYO. Same medical room, the tests, this room, the distrust, and the fact that she was she still without an identity. But at the same time, she was a completely different woman. A woman with a year's worth of learning and loss.

A woman with amnesia, theoretically, could only gain; regain skills, memories, and experiences. And Jane had gained so much… for a brief, shining moment she had an identity, friends, family and a purpose. It was laughable, how someone, who literally started with nothing, could have acquired so much and yet came full circle back to nothing. Jane wondered if it would better if she had no memories… at least then her helplessness wouldn't be coupled with constant burden of condemnation.

 _Temporary homecomings are bittersweet. It's better not to be back at all than to have to leave again. She didn't have a choice, though. She was like chattel or tool — coming and going at the whims of others — just a cog. And once she served her purpose…_

Jane slid off the bed gingerly, wincing as she put pressure on her feet. Painkillers could only do so much. Stiltedly she shuffled over to the window and pressed her nose and hands against the glass. In the midnight hours, the lights of the city were a glittering paradise. She unfocused her eyes and let the lights blur into blobs of colour and sparkle. For a while, Janee had thought she would never see the bustling living world again. Never smell the scent of rain or see the fall trees changing colour…

 _And now you will only see it through bars and glass._

Jane couldn't help but think this could be the last time she saw such a view and concentrated to fix it firmly in her memory. Fiery needles of pain crawled up her feet, but she stayed with her nose pressed against the glass until her legs began to tremble under her weight.

Her eyes flickered idly to the bed as she debated whether or not to use it.

On one hand, Jane was drawn to the plush comfort of the mattress, a luxury she hadn't enjoyed since… before. On the other hand, she was uncertain about the motivation behind all the kindness she had been shown. The medical care, a clean room, a bed… what was the point? She eyed the IV dubiously. Were they trying to breach her defences with kindness?

 _You don't deserve kindness. You don't deserve comfort. You can't trust it — they can and will take it away at any moment. Don't give them the satisfaction of thinking that you depend on any of this. You don't need anyone or anything, not anymore. Never again. You cannot be weak._

Besides, comfort is for the weak. A recalled a woman voicing a familiar adage as it bubbled up from her subconscious, "The weak die," it was accompanied by the flashing image of a white rabbit. She shook her head in confusion at the strange memory. _Shake it off._

Jane needed to be resilient; it would not afford to let her body get soft. She needed to build her body back stronger. Strong enough to escape and survive. Strong enough to outlast Keaton if he got his hands on her again. Strong enough to withstand whatever psychological tactics the FBI had in store for her.

 _Strong enough that their actions wouldn't hurt so much._

Decision made; no bed. With toughened bitterness she ripped the IV out of her arm for good measure.

Sliding down the wall, Jane wedged herself in the corner where the wall and bed-frame met. With the wall behind her and the bed blocking her from the sight of the door, she felt somewhat secure. With the remnants of whatever was in the IV coursing through her veins, Jane fought against lethargy as she kept her body alert for whatever was coming next.

...

* * *

...

More Rich, as requested and promised. As a character in the show, I think he does a good job of knocking some sense into the characters and I really tried to utilize him in that way as well.

A lot of requests for Roman - I promise, he is coming but it will be a little while yet.

* * *

I need some ideas.

A few chapters from now, the team will start taking Jane out of the office (not on cases yet) to see the city and have fun with the team.

1). Some good location ideas

2). Would you like to see anything in particular happen on these outings? Cute/awkward/angsty/funny moments.


	7. Old Friends in Old Places

Excellent response to my desire for input. You are all so fabulous and considerate with your responses.

A few of you mentioned that outings wouldn't be a fast solution and I absolutely agree… the team definitely has a few miles to go before we get to this point.

The excursions don't come in for a few chapters yet. I just like to be prepared and try to think of some good scenarios in advance.

...

* * *

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Chapter 7

Old Friends in Old Places

...

"They should have told us as soon as they were done. I wanted to be there when Jane woke up; she should've had at least one familiar face." Zapata ranted as they stood outside of Jane's door.

Patterson nodded in fervent agreement, "Imagine how she must have felt— like we didn't even care enough to sit with her."

Kurt was frustrated as well but his mind was too full to deal with their disappointment; they were outside Jane's door and he couldn't turn back time. Now, was the moment of truth. A nurse was sitting on a chair next to the door, on call in case there was any need. She nodded reassuringly to urge them through the door.

 _Questions swirled around his brain… Would Jane recognize them? Would she speak? Would she even be aware?_

Kurt paused, took a deep breathe and squared his shoulders before he pushed the door open. The room was dark with only the city lights filtering through the window. There wasn't much to see, it was a medical holding room with only a bed and dresser.

 _Surely we could do better than this for Jane…_

"Oh no! Where is she?" Patterson gasped and pointed. They all froze as they took in the empty sheets and dangling IV cord.

 _Where is Jane? Did she run away? Did the CIA infiltrate the building and take her back? Oh God, someone FIND HER!_

Reade reached over and flicked a switch to give them some more light. They filed further into the room to get a better look. It was then, that they spotted a bloody, bandaged foot peeking out from behind the bed. En masse, they slowly circled around and found Jane wedged between the bed and the wall.

She looked small.

Patterson couldn't hide the gasp as she took in her first sight of Jane.

Her body was swimming in a hospital gown and yards of white bandage. Underneath, Jane's gaunt limbs had wrapped themselves around her torso. She had to be cold. A small trickle of blood smeared her arm and gown where she had, apparently, pulled the IV out. The white-grey of the gown washed out her complexion but her eyes were vibrant peeping out from her messy curls.

Jane's gaze was measured but, in defiance of her appearance of calm, her back was arched defensively into the wall. Reaching out his arms, Kurt slowly stepped back and took the rest of the team with him. The whole pack of them looming around her was probably daunting. He hoped giving Jane space would help her relax.

But as the team moved back, the nurse that had been outside the door followed them in and pushed ahead.

"Miss Doe," the nurse tsked, "This is hardly conducive to healing. You need to get back into bed and I will reinsert the IV." She stepped forward brusquely already readying the IV and pulling the soft restraints back on top of the bed.

Kurt curiously moved closer. He fingered the soft material of the cuff and asked with deceptive gentility, "What are these for?"

"Oh, those are just a safety precaution. We find that patients that arrive from traumatic environments, especially if the trauma is compounded by extreme injury or malnourishment, can act irrationally. Miss Doe wore them before; she already pulled the IV out a few times in her sleep and we were afraid she might react aggressively while we examined her."

The nurse nodded sympathetically before continuing, "I had hoped she would be fine once she was conscious, but considering _this_ ," she gestured to Jane's unmoving form, "They seem to be the best course of action."

Kurt watched Jane throughout the nurse's explanation. He saw her eye the cuffs with resignation even as she shrunk further in on herself. Just the thought of Jane in restraints immediately brought him back to that dank dungeon and the sight of her blackened wrists.

 _No, just no._

"No." Kurt uttered aloud definitively. He untethered the restraints from the bed and crushed them in his fist.

"Assistant Directer Weller, I know that it looks…"

He froze the nurse's argument with a single glare, "No. Jane is scared and restraining her won't help. I will not condone this course of action," and he brushed her aside.

Kurt knelt carefully in front of Jane and tried not to wince as she subtly cringed away from him. "Jane, you are safe here, I promise." He felt like he was approaching an animal stuck in a trap, "You don't have to get in the bed if you don't want to and I won't let them put the restraints back on. But please let us put the IV back in; the antibiotics and saline will help you get well."

Kurt tried not to push as he waited for some kind of response. All he knew, was that after months of brutal interrogation, this had to be Jane's choice.

…

* * *

...

Jane hadn't been sure how she would feel when confronted by her old team. When they had taken her from the CIA black site, she had been half hallucinatory due to pain and lack of sleep. Now she was rested, her pain was numbed and her mind was more alert.

Jane thought she would be ready for anything. She was ready to be dragged out by her hair or to be beaten in a cruel barrage of hatred. She could handle physical pain, but she hadn't been prepared for this…

When the lock had finally clicked and the door silently swung open to let in a stream of light from the hallway, she tensed. Jane heard the dulled patter of their shoes enter then pause as they realized she wasn't in her bed. The room had flooded with the team came round the bed and found her, Jane couldn't help but drink in their presence. She let herself stare in the faces of the team she loved and missed… the team that despised her. Jane couldn't help it, she _did_ miss them… they were her family.

They looked the same. Same faces and hair. Same clothes and expression quirks. It was almost as if no time had passed at all. Odd, but they masked their hatred well; maybe it's part of Quantico training. In fact, they looked concerned and strained.

Jane had been prepared for physical abuse but she foolishly hadn't steeled herself for a psychological strategy. She wrapped her arms tighter around her chest as if it would protect her heart. This could be so much worse, they had crueler and more capable weapons at their disposal— lies, false concern, and mock friendship.

The nurse's return was unfortunate. Jane listened with half an ear at the nurse's rambling reasoning to get her strapped back in the bed. _Helpless_. Jane waited to be hauled back into bed and forced back into the restraints. She almost preferred it; at least it would be predictable.

Instead, Weller argued with the nurse and ripped out the restraints.

His eyes seemed so sincere and kind as he tried to assure her and cajole her into letting them put the IV back in. As if she really _had_ a choice. His eyes are dark, intense and full of things she couldn't have but couldn't help thinking about. _Stop. Stop now. Stop!_

She wasn't equipped for emotional warfare. She needed them to leave so that she could try to mend her damaged heart in peace. She needed time to re-strategize. Jane held out her bloody arm for the IV; anything to make them go.

…

When the nurse stepped forward to complete the task, Jane assumed— hoped and dreaded— that the team would leave… but they hovered in the background. Once the nurse left they shifted forward and sat down in a semi-circle around her.

Patterson spoke first, her hand reaching out reflexively as if she could bridge the divide between the team and Jane with her sincere smile, "Oh Jane," she breathed, "I'm so sorry. I should have tried harder to find you. Please don't hate me… Anything you need, I…"

 _Oh Patterson, you too? I never hated you… it would have made everything easier if I could._

Reade took Patterson's hand reassuringly and took over as he met Jane's eyes squarely, "Anything you need, Jane. We had no idea what was going on. It wasn't until Rich Dotcom tipped us off that we even found the black site's location… and you."

 _Rich Dotcom— what did he have to do with anything? They certainly came in with a game plan. At least they are all on the same page and are determined to be consistent._

"We understand if you hate us, Jane." Zapata's turn, "You have every right — but we would never have let the CIA take you if we had known that they would… torture you. But you' have to know that we won't let them take you again. You're safe now.

 _Even if that were true, what did you think that the CIA would do with me? House me in a suite and ask me nicely. I'm never safe and apologies don't take away months of agony. I don't need false promises, I just want to be left alone._

Kurt was quiet. He seemed content to let the team have their say.

Maybe he wasn't up for lies either.

It went around much the same. A chorus of apologies and cries of disgust at the underhanded tactics of the CIA. Jane's eyes drifted over each speaker but her expression never twitched. She had months of practice in concealing her emotions.

Honestly, she was torn. Jane loved the team's proximity and she hated it. It was lovely to be surrounded by them and be flooded with their concern and care. But it was heart wrenching to know that it wasn't real.

Jane understood why they did it, truly she did— they wanted answers. The people who planted her in the FBI were dangerous and Mayfair was dead — these were good and understandable motivations.

But good motivations didn't change the fact that they put her through hell. A good explanation didn't erase the torture sessions or the scars on her body. A genuine apology didn't mean that her heart could forget their actions. It still hurt, and she didn't know how much more she could take.

She leaned her cheek against the cool wall and stared at the flecks of blood on her knee until she heard the conversation drop off. One by one, the team stood and wished her good night. They all promised to see her the next day as they exited the room. All except one. Him.

…

* * *

...

Reade, Zapata and Patterson let the door shut behind them before the sagged against the closest wall. They had gotten to apologize and Jane seemed to have heard them. She stared and watched but she never responded.

Lost in their own thoughts they drifted aimlessly down the hall.

Reade carefully tidied his desk.

 _Someone on this team needs to stay practical about the Jane situation; I hate that it's always me. I don't want to start trusting her again in case she it turns out that she really is a liar… but if she was a liar do I really think that she deserved four months of torture? No matter what she did, if she even did do anything, she didn't warrant that. And seeing the impact… reading that report… sickening; she could be broken beyond repair anyway._

Zapata rested her forehead against the door of her locker as she tried to collect her thoughts.

 _It happened again. Years ago, her partner had died on her watch — she hadn't been paying attention and it came out of nowhere. And now Jane. She had been taken by the CIA on her watch and Tasha hadn't done a thing. She was a terrible friend and she didn't know how to fix it._

Patterson watched the clock in her office. She had already decided that she wasn't leaving.

 _All she could think about was that while she was lounging in the arms of a new boyfriend and all atwitter over a new relationship… Jane was beaten and burned and drowned. This team was family, they were supposed to be there for each other and they had failed Jane so spectacularly. And now Jane wouldn't even speak to them. It couldn't get any worse._

 _…_

* * *

 _..._

Kurt waited until the team left before he shuffled closer; they were almost knee to knee. Out of the corner of her eye Jane saw him staring at her. He didn't blink and his eyes were so full of emotion she was almost tempted to get a closer look.

Kurt's presence pulled Jane like gravity.

This man had been her starting point, her anchor when she had nothing. She had moments when she felt she was connected to him in a way that went so far beneath the surface. Like she understood him better than he understood himself - better than she even understood _herself_. Then all the certainty slid away and she was left clutching at air. She was left fractured.

"Jane?" She refused to acknowledge him or lift her head from the wall.

Kurt's hand rose from his knee and shakily extended out to her own hand that was resting on the floor. Watching her carefully, Kurt slowly lowered his hand and allowed his fingertips to travel up her fingers and over her knuckles until his hand covered her own.

Her eyes flickered to his face, but his full concentration was on the image of his large hand resting on her small, tattooed one. She felt chills travel up her spine at the sensation of his calloused thumb softly caressing the honeycomb tattoo.

Kurt tried again, "Do you mind if I just sit with you for a little while and talk?"

He didn't seem to expect a response and Jane's silence didn't stop Kurt from voicing his thoughts out loud.

"I was angry with you, you know. I blamed you for everything; Taylor, my dad, Mayfair… it was easier to blame the person that wasn't here than to really try to understand what happened. I'm sor—" his voice faltered, "I'm so sorry, Jane."

 _I'm sorry too, Kurt. For everything… for Taylor and your dad and for Mayfair. You were right the first time, it was all my fault._

"I can't get the image out of my mind— of you hanging in that basement. Your face just empty and the rest of you…" he shuddered, "I don't see how you will ever forgive any of us for that. I don't think I will ever forgive myself. You were in my care, you were on my team and I let you go without a fight. You deserved more from me."

 _I wished for more from you — but I didn't deserve it. You don't need my forgiveness, you only want my cooperation. Why are you saying all these things? What is the purpose of making me feel these things again?_

"I should have let you explain. We were… I fell in love with you, Jane." Kurt paused as if unsure of her reaction, "I wasn't able to admit it until a few weeks ago, but it's true. I loved you. And when I found out you weren't Taylor— that you'd been lying to me… it felt like the ultimate betrayal. My feelings were so raw, I made a the _worst_ decision. I was so angry at you, I just wanted you to suffer as much as I was."

Jane felt the unfairness of his comment like a slap. Her head snapped up.

Months ago those three words would have been a dream come true. Now they felt like razor blades going through her ears. How dare he use _those_ words— how dare he use them as some sort of rationale for sending her to the CIA. How dare he use those words to manipulate her. How could he be so cruel?

 _That was it._

Jane's thinking splintered into raw instinct. Of its own accord her arm recoiled and propelled her clenched fist at his face. It landed with a crunch. With deep satisfaction she saw Kurt's eyes widen and the blood spurt out of his nose.

Jane gripped the edge of the bed and pulled herself onto her aching feet. She ignored his garbled protests and curled up in the bed with her back towards him. Desperate for any semblance of privacy she yanked the sheets over her head.

Jane was done with these two-faced comments and manipulations of her feelings to gain an advantage. This was going too far; was there no limit? At least the CIA didn't pretend to be anything but malicious — their tactics were brutal but overt.

She had already revealed too much but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his words destroyed her. She waited for him to leave the room. Only once he was gone, did Jane allow her crushed heart to wallow in pity and regret. Underneath the cover of the sheets and darkness of the room, tears streamed down her face, salty and cold. She hadn't thought she was capable of tears anymore. Trust Kurt to do with a few words, what the CIA had been unable to do with months of torture.

He said that he had _loved_ her.

 _…_

* * *

Okay, that last scene just kind of appeared in my head while I was walking my dog. I ran home so fast to get it written down. And it just felt… right (sad, but right). I can just see that the scene with Kurt so vividly in my head, I hope it came across.

There was one scene that was very reminiscent of the first episode of season one. Did anyone notice it?

* * *

We are almost to a break through… the next chapter we will see time passing and some progress. I have some long-term plans for this story though, so if you are enjoying it — hopefully you will be pleased to know that I have a longer plot in mind.


	8. A Breach of Defences

Please know how much your reviews, favourites and follows make this all worth while. **I am so excited that this story has reached 200 reviews**! You guys are AWESOME! So to thank you all, I worked to get a nice long chapter done for Blindspot Wednesday. As an extra thanks, I'm also hoping to post another one-shot from the Holiday Collection by the end of the day.

* * *

I have taken a very thorough approach so far. I really wanted to get into the character's reactions and motivations. In this chapter we will see time moving more quickly as Jane begins to heal physically and each member of the team tries to get her to reconnect with them

* * *

...

Chapter 8

Furniture and Artwork: A Breach of Defences

...

This was their third session but it may as well been the first, for all the progress there was to show. Every day, Jane was escorted into Borden's office and, every day, she spend the hour staring at the hands of the clock tick her time away.

Borden wasn't discouraged by Jane's silence, under the circumstances her behaviour was within normal parameters. He had read the reports, he knew the trauma she had underwent must have been acute. Borden had researched extensively on defence mechanisms under extreme duress; he suspected that Jane was still on high alert and she was still employing various coping strategies.

To Borden, Jane's silence wasn't the main point of his concern as much as her complete lack of interaction. Her body was healing physically but not emotionally. Every day her body became stronger and in the meantime so did the mental fortress around her mind. No trust equaled no effort, which equaled limited progress.

"Jane, I know our sessions have been uneventful, thus far. But I want to remind you that I am here whenever you are ready. If you want to just yell or scream or cry… if you want to get mad… or if you just need to sit in silence… I am here and this is a safe place."

He watched Jane as she resolutely stared at the clock. Not a crack in the facade; she was still vigilant and unrelaxed. Borden unconsciously observed that her bruises had begun to darken. The dark purple blotches edged around the stark white of her bandages in sharp contrast.

"Do you feel safe here with the FBI, Jane?"

 _Jane internally groaned. This is such a waste of time_

Borden presented the next phase of his therapy plan, "I've brought something for you, today; these are yours to take back to your room with you," He placed a stack of notebooks, sketchbooks, pens and pencils on the coffee table.

"I know you have a lot of thoughts and emotions pent up inside you and these will hopefully be an outlet for you. They are yours and they will be completely private. I will not look at them or read anything unless you give me permission."

If Borden hadn't been watching her, he would have missed the eye-roll.

 _He must be kidding. After four months of being pushed to the limits of my body's tolerance… someone looking at my sketches is the least intimate of my violations. What a joke._

"I know it is difficult to believe, Jane, but we all care about you. We have your best interests at heart. We will do whatever you need to make you feel safe and secure."

Jane's eye's averted their attention from the clock to Borden's face.

 _I will never be safe. And I certainly can't trust anybody here._

For a long moment Jane simply stared, her expression rigid and resentful, before she pushed herself awkwardly up from the chair and stiffly walked to the doors. She waited with her arms crossed and tapped her foot loudly.

They still had five minutes left in their session but there was no point in continuing. With a sigh, Borden stood and picked up the bundle from the table. As he pushed open the door to release her into the hall, he handed the books and writing utensils to the agent in charge of escorting Jane that day, and asked him to leave them in her room.

"Think about what you want, Jane. We all want to help you. Until next time…"

 _What do I want? I want what a lot of people want… I want to feel safe. I want to have a say in my own life. I want to be loved. I want to belong somewhere. I'm tired of my life being arranged without my consent. I want to know that I will live to see the next year._

…

* * *

...

A couple hours later the team assembled for a group meeting in Borden's office.

Borden opened, "I can't discuss much of my sessions with Jane. But I feel that we need to be the same page moving forward."

"Has she at least talked to _you_?" Kurt groaned desperately.

"Words are not the only form of communication," Borden raised his eyebrows and pointed his chin at Weller's, still swollen, nose, "Clearly, she has no problems expressing herself when she wants to."

Zapata snickered as Kurt grimaced and prodded his nose thoughtfully. It was still a sore point. Everything had come out of his mouth all wrong; he had only wanted to explain and apologize…and he had screwed it up, _again_. He had apologized profusely since then, but, if anything, Jane had become more withdrawn.

"What I'm hearing is… _no_ , she hasn't talked to you, either," Zapata picked up pointedly.

"I know it is difficult that she hasn't responded to any of your overtures. But please realize that our focus is on providing Jane with a safe and secure environment. Once she feels safe and trusts us — then she will communicate."

"It's not that simple"

"No, it's not." Borden agreed, "It's going to take time, patience and a whole lot of effort from all of you. She may seem like she isn't paying attention to us, but she is hyper-aware of what's going on."

"Can you at least tell us if this is normal?" Reade exasperated.

Borden paused, then sighed, "It's not unexpected. Silence was Jane's only defence against the CIA and she probably believes it is her only defence against us as well."

"She doesn't need defending against us! Can't you reassure her of that?" Zapata grated out.

"I think that should be up to you" Borden pushed back. "Try not to force her interaction or participation and encourage alternative methods of communication. I have given her some sketchbooks and notebooks and there is also body language. Hopefully she will reach out."

"What else can we do? We all take time talking with her and sitting with her. I don't know what else to say…" Reade voiced everyone's frustration.

"It's not about what you say. It's about your constancy; it's letting her know that she can count on you to support her and mean what you say. I think it is important, going ahead, that you allow her to take the lead. Be her friend and the rest will follow."

…

* * *

...

Over the next couple weeks, Jane found herself in the, almost constant, company of the team. While she slowly recovered they each spent blocks of the day with her. Sometimes they would do work and sit next to her in silence while other times they jabbered about their lives or cases.

 _Perhaps there was something freeing in telling the truth to someone who didn't speak — as if your secrets were safe with them._

They never expected her to talk— they were just… there. Jane hated that she found it reassuring. She hated that she had started to become used to their company. She tried not to get comfortable with the team again. She didn't want to get caught up in their web of friendship. She couldn't lose track of the fact that if they didn't already hate her… they would once they knew the truth.

 _You don't deserve their kindness. You are taking advantage of them. This is going to hurt you later, just wait and see._

…

* * *

...

Reade sat beside Jane on the couch they had moved into her room. Today he had volunteered to do the morning shift with Jane. She had been with them 5 days and counting.

"I'm sorry to bog you down with this Jane, it's just… I feel like you're the only one who can really understand what I'm going through."

He had been keeping Jane abreast on the case against Coach Jones. The defence attorney had recently decided that there wasn't sufficient evidence for a winning case. It had broken his heart to have to disappoint Freddy and tell him that, that fucker Jones wouldn't be getting a trial.

"When Freddy told me that I was a victim too… it just… I don't know. It just hit me out of nowhere. It just feels like a sick joke that something like that could happen to me and I have no memory of it. But now I'm all freaked out because when I look back on that time in my childhood… there are these blank spots in my memory…"

He dropped his head into his hands, unable to go on. There on the couch next to him was the art piece that Jane had been working on since he arrived. It was a disturbing image in erratic charcoal strokes— a sketch of Jane, being ripped into pieces… her limbs literally being tugged in different directions. It was hard not to read into it.

"I never empathized how terrifying it must be for you… to find out or suspect that awful things had happened to you, but to be unable to remember them. I'm so sorry, Jane, that you have had to experience it for so long. I've only had a few days of it and it makes me would to punch everyone I see."

With his face in his hands, Reade almost didn't notice the light touch of Jane's hand as she rested it gently on his shoulder. She put it there for only a half-minute before pulling back, as if she herself hadn't realized what she had done.

In the midst of his own crisis, Reade couldn't help breaking into a small smile; Jane had reached out to him. "Thank you, Jane."

Maybe Borden was right after all.

…

Jane was sitting cross-legged on her bed when Patterson heaved an overflowing bag onto the couch. Jane had been with them for just over a week and today Patterson had the afternoon shift.

"Good afternoon, Jane. Guess what? The nurse told me they are going to start weaning you onto real food soon instead of those green nutrition shakes. I know they're going to start with boring stuff like soup and jello but start making a list of things you want to eat and I can try to smuggle it in." Patterson's infectious smile grew bigger when Jane acknowledged her present with a barely perceptible nod.

"I realized that you were probably super tired of wearing hospital gowns all the time… so I brought you some regular clothes. I was tempted to get you some really girly stuff for fun, but I knew you would hate it. I think I did rather well actually…"

Reaching into the bag, Patterson pulled out a pairs of loose FBI sweat pants for comfort but also skinny jeans and cargo pants. followed by a few t-shirts and even a Jane-trademark leather jacket. She folded them carefully onto the coffee table that had somehow migrated into the room.

Patterson moved to clear away some of Jane's papers from the table, when a drawing was knocked loose from the pile and skidded to the floor. She hadn't intended to look at it; she wanted to respect Jane's privacy but the aggressive strokes and dark detail caught her attention. Jane was depicted in the centre of the page kneeling, and her image was surrounded by dark spectres looming hauntingly around her.

She looked up at the woman on the bed; Jane was watching her.

Knowing what Jane went through, it would be impossible for her not to be haunted by those events. It hurt Patterson, knowing that her friend was suffering in silence and was probably so afraid. Wiping the tears away quickly, Patterson slowly walked over to Jane with the picture and perched herself next to her on the bed.

Mindful of her injuries and of Jane's super-sensitivity to touch, she loosely slung her arm around Jane's shoulder, "We won't let them get you again, Jane. You're safe. I promise."

Jane stiffened in her arms and Patterson allowed her hand to drop away. That was progress enough for today.

Searching her mind, Patterson tried to think of a topic that would lighten the mood and hopefully engage her reluctant companion.

"So, Robert and I went out for Turkish food last night. He got me to try this really amazing dish— I can't pronounce it, but it was really spicy. Anyway, my mouth practically caught fire and he did the cutest thing…"

Patterson found it easiest to fill the silence with workplace gossip and stories from her day. The last few days, she had even caught Jane smiling at some of the more ridiculous stories.

…

Jane was just coming out of the bathroom when Tasha came to join her for the early evening slot of the day. It was day 10 and Jane was rubbing her stomach uncomfortably until she caught sight of Tasha— Zapata guessed that the move to regular foods was going rough.

Tasha flung herself down on one of the beanbag chairs she had donated to Jane's room, "I had that dream again last night— the one where Weitz comes into the office to congratulate me on Mayfair's disappearance and tells everyone that I helped him build a case against her."

Tasha knew that she harboured a lot of guilt over her last weeks with Mayfair. Instead of trusting her mentor— instead of discussing her concerns with her friend and leader, she had allowed herself to be swayed by Weitz. Some of Mayfair's, probably, last memories of Tasha Zapata were ones of doubt and disappointment.

Tasha patted the beanbag chair next to her to encourage Jane to sit down beside her, "Do you remember one of the first cases we worked on together? How you asked me if good people ever do terrible things?" Jane's eyes were riveted to her face, "I told you that terrible people do terrible things. Jane, I am a terrible person. What if I am part of the reason that Mayfair got into that huge mess…"

Looking to Jane for a reaction, Tasha was shocked to see the woman's eyes had welled with unshed tears and her face looked stricken. Tasha hadn't seen Jane show so much emotion since they had brought her back.

"I'm sorry, Jane, I didn't mean to upset you—," Jane bolted up from the seat and reached under the bed's mattress to pull out her sketchbook. With shaking hands she flipped the pages and held the open book out for Tasha to take.

This was unprecedented and Tasha was curious as she took the book. On the page, Jane had drawn a disturbing likeness of herself… except all of her tattoos had been transformed into highly decorative insults and slurs. Tasha she read words like "killer," "guilty" and "monster" written on Jane's body.

Tasha's heart clenched at the realization that Jane saw herself this way. She didn't understand what Jane wanted her to see from this. Steeling her emotions and not wanting to slam Jane's attempt at communication, Tasha returned the book to Jane's shaking hands.

"Jane you're my friend. Please don't think about my friend this way."

Apparently she had said the wrong thing. Jane's distressed face was wiped clean in seconds and she wearily turned to lock herself in the bathroom.

Tasha didn't see her again until the next day.

…

Kurt usually did the evening shifts with Jane. He liked the quiet. It took only a few days for him to realize that the nights were the most difficult time for Jane; he wanted to be there for her. It had been two weeks, and his progress with Jane had been the most erratic. He got an emotional punch but he also got frozen out the most.

Still, Kurt comforted himself with the fact that Jane felt safe enough to fall asleep while he was there. She didn't do that for anyone else.

The protective world she had created in her mind— that's where she disappeared to. She pulled back into that careful construction and he couldn't get at her unless he smashed through the barrier. But he was terrified of forcing her— of breaking her… so he opted for a slow and steady approach per Borden's suggestion

Kurt had moved an extra desk into her room, both for her to use but also so that he could get some work done. He found if he stayed busy and occupied, Jane was much more comfortable with his presence. It was getting late and Jane had fallen asleep on the couch. He had heard the clatter of her pencil as it fell to the floor over a half-hour ago.

 _Should I stay or should I go? She seems to be sleeping fine today. Last time I tried to carry her to her bed she freaked out and froze into a doll. I don't want to leave her alone. I know she needs space… but I just hate the idea of her waking up alone._

The decision was made for him when Jane's breathing began to pick up. Kurt's eyes locked on her slumped form— her fingers were starting to twitch reflexively and her head began to jerk. She was having a bad dream.

Kurt strode to the couch and knelt by her side. With practiced movements, he avoided contact with her and began to whisper reassuringly into her ear, "You are safe. You are with the FBI. Keaton is not here. You are safe. This isn't real; it's a nightmare. You are safe. I am here. Shh Shhh go back to sleep."

It was wrong that he took pleasure in these moments. But the knowledge, that he could still make her feel safe, even if she never acknowledged it, gave him hope that they could come back from this.

With a couple weeks of healing time under her belt, Jane was on her way to recovery. He carefully touched her rosy cheek and noted that she had started to regain some weight and some of the bandages had been removed.

Little by little Jane's muscles relaxed and her breath evened out. Pulling a blanket from her bed, he covered her gently and placed her books and pencils neatly on the coffee table. He was just about to return to his desk when a lone sheet of paper caught his eye… it must have slid under the couch when she fell asleep.

He was going to put it on the pile with the rest, but the drawing stopped him in his tracks. It was a carefully rendered picture of Jane staring at her reflection in a mirror. In it, she was holding a gun and shooting her mirror image. With trembling hands he placed it face down on the table.

"Oh Jane, please, talk to me. I promise, whatever happened, you won't have to go back to the CIA. I promise, I _will_ listen this time."

Instead of going back to the desk, Kurt manipulated the beanbag chairs into an uncomfortable bed within arm's reach of Jane. It wasn't the first time he had done it and he doubted it would be the last.

…

* * *

...

The room was cold when Jane woke up; she could see her breathe puffing out in front of her in a cloud. Shivering, a dark sinister feeling of foreboding crept over her. This wasn't right. Looking around she realized that her bed had been moved. She wasn't in her room, she was back in her CIA black site cell.

 _No! This can't be happening! How is this happening! Was I sedated… when was I transferred back?_

The door swung open and glaring, bright light flooded the room. She threw up her hands to protect her eyes and she could hear the regulated click of shoes as someone entered into the dungeon.

She could smell the familiar scent of his faded cologne, as Keaton leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Welcome home, Jane."

 _Keep breathing. You have to keep breathing!_

In the stillness, she could hear the angry whispers of Weller, Reade, Zapata and Patterson… each condemning her in turn. They hated her and sent her here because they were done with wasting their time with her. They cursed her for her mistakes and voiced every dark fear and shame she had secreted in her heart.

 _Please, I'm so sorry. Please let me explain. I know— I know it's my fault but please don't do this. Anything but this— kill me instead._

Her arms were yanked down from her eyes. She looked down to see that she was no longer in her medical bed but that she was being strapped down to the metal chair. Keaton was walking towards her with electrodes, a sinister smile curling up his cheeks as he fitted them onto her skin.

"Did you miss us, Jane? No? But we missed _you_ … Start the music, boys." Keaton gestured to one of his men and they started to play the shrieking recording designed to keep her up at night.

The shrill sound echoed in her ears as Jane fought her restraints desperately. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to shake the electrodes loose off of her head.

 _No no no nonononoonono_

…

* * *

Okay, don't hate me for leaving it there. It was a necessary evil.

On the plus side, this is my longest chapter yet and...

There is some more interesting news. in the next chapter the truth about Jane's covert actions comes out; it will a full blown reveal. That helps a little, right?

* * *

I tried to give each team member a good moment - and Jane is slowly opening up (against her better judgement). But I tried to really highlight the importance of regular long-term effort for that to be possible. At the same time Jane is getting used to the team, they are empathizing more with her. Which will be incredibly important for the direction I want the truth reveal to take. Thoughts?


	9. The Truth Revealed

Alright, here we go…, before I get to the moment of truth… I have a BIG question for you guys at the end of the chapter. I know it can be annoying when writers (like me) ask for your opinion, but I actually think a lot of you will be interested in this one.

* * *

Quick recap: last chapter ended with this…

"Did you miss us, Jane? We missed you… Start the music boys." Keaton gestured to one of his men and they started to play the shrieking recording designed to keep her up at night.

The shrill sound echoed in her ears as Jane fought her restraints desperately. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to shake the electrodes loose off of her head.

 _No no no nonononoonono_

 _..._

* * *

 _..._

Chapter 9

The Truth Revealed

...

"Jane! JANE! You need to wake _up_ , JANE!"

Jane's eyes popped open, she was still shaking and the room was still screaming but… but… she was back in her room.

Kurt hands were clasped around her own and he was trying to shake her awake. It was only then, that Jane realized she was the one screaming. The sound cut off in a hoarse gasp for breathe.

 _Thank God. It was only a nightmare— it wasn't real… yet._

Jane's skin crawled and her body ached, as if she had truly been back in that dark hole. Her nerves remembered the shock and pain. She felt dirty. Jane scrambled off the couch and away from Kurt. Clutching her arms desperately around her torso she struggled to cope with the onslaught of memories that always followed the nightmares.

Reaching for comfort she let her mind sink into the embrace of her safe haven. She hadn't had to retreat to that place in her mind for days, already some of the finer details had slipped away. Regardless, it was hers and it still made her feel safe— at least, it normally made her feel safe.

But as Jane's mind drifted to the familiar cottage by the sea she realized that something had changed. She walked the wooden floors towards the living room, but something felt wrong— off even. Jane could hear more than crash of the ocean waves… she could hear voices. When she entered the room, Jane was shocked to see the team sitting comfortably within.

This couldn't be! This was _her_ house— _her_ sanctuary… how had they breached her defences? Her safe haven was supposed to be hers alone; that's how it kept her secure.

But she was looking around her imagined cottage and she was seeing the team looking entirely too relaxed. Reade making tea in the kitchen, Zapata was playing solitaire at the coffee table, Patterson was setting up a board game and Kurt was napping on the couch.

Looking around in fear, Jane froze — she had become too complacent and trusting, that was the only explanation. She had tried to keep herself aloof and cold but they had been so kind and constant. With time, it had been impossible not to become at ease with them. She had allowed the strongholds to weaken; it was her own fault.

 _I can't believe you fell for this crap, AGAIN. You were supposed to learn your lesson the first time. You even knew they had a game plan from the start and were prepared for it. You knew what they were doing and now you have literally let them mess with your head, AGAIN._

Stepping forward, Jane tried to regain control over the situation; she was going to push them out. Stomping forward aggressively, she moved to grab Kurt by the arm but her hand swiped right through him. Worried Jane spun around and tried to touch Patterson's shoulder but she couldn't make contact.

It was as if they had become a fixed part of the dreamworld, a new, permanent addition to what was once her safe haven. She had allowed them to corrupt it. She had lost control. She had lost her safe place. Jane turned around and walked out the door, back to the real world.

 _What had she done? And how was she going to fix this…_

…

* * *

...

Blinking rapidly, Jane came back to herself. She was still huddled on the floor and Kurt was watching her intently. She felt too exposed— too vulnerable. She needed space— she needed to think. She got to her feet, stumbled to the bathroom and locked the door.

Slamming her fists on the counter she glared at her reflection. If she wasn't so weak, she wouldn't be in this position. If she had been stronger, her mental defences and her heart wouldn't have been breached.

But she wasn't the only one to blame — Jane was just as angry at her former team. It was cruel of them to make her believe that they cared. They sat with her for weeks being all gentle and kind… but _she_ knew how she was supposed to end up. She knew where they were going to send her… _back to hell._ They waltzed back into her life and pretended like they hadn't done anything. They sat with her and fed her. They clothed her and didn't push her. They had slowly wormed their way back into her heart — such stealthy invaders. Such a subtle strategy.

The worst thing, was that she knew it from the start. Jane knew they were lying — there was no way that they would voluntarily spend so much time with her, if it weren't for an ulterior motive. She knew what they wanted. They wanted the truth.

 _Maybe she should give it to them._

 _From the beginning, she had always known that they deserved the truth. She had waited because she was afraid and because she was too broken… but waiting, now had a brand new set of risks._

 _It was time._

If she told them the truth; if they knew the extent of her betrayal there would be no more need for them to pretend to be her friend. It would force their hand and they would finally be honest.

Once they knew, they couldn't help but hate her — just like she hated herself. Then the charade would end. It was time to end this pretence before she got more attached than she already was.

 _Do you really want this to end. It has been so peaceful. It's almost like having them back… it's almost like before. Wouldn't it be nice for just a little while longer?_

 _NO! It's already going to hurt when her faulty brain and heart get brutal evidence of the team's true feelings. Better to end this sooner, rather than later._

She knew that with the end of the ruse, it probably meant her return to the CIA. She had to weigh her odds carefully.

Jane eyed her body critically in the mirror. She had better range of motion; she had gained a little weight and strength — not nearly close to her former function but it could be enough. She had some stamina and many of her injuries were healed enough to not slow her down. The bruises were fading and her stitches had been removed.

It would be a strain, but an escape was feasible.

Time had run out. It would be more dangerous for her to stay here and allow herself to become more emotionally attached because the eventual emotional damage would be debilitating and Jane was afraid she wouldn't be able to get past it.

Jane knew the truth had to come out sometime; this way it was her decision. It was her plan. It was within her control. _For once._

…

* * *

...

Jane walked out of the bathroom full of determination. Her eyes slid over Kurt, who had stayed and waited, perhaps he said something but she was too focused on regaining her sketchbook and pencils to pay attention. She barricaded herself behind the bed and immediately began to draw. She was like a woman possessed, she drew image after image to capture events from her perspective— events and conversations she had kept hidden. Time passed in a flurry of emotional recollections and a growing stack of paper.

If it weren't for the cramping in her hand Jane would have never taken a break. In the distance she was vaguely aware of the door opening and closing. Occasionally she rested her hand and would eat from the food tray, but for the most part she ignored the distractions.

She continued until the story was complete.

The finished product resembled a comic book. It traced events starting from the moment she left Weller's apartment on the night when Carter kidnapped. Scenes that were more significant took up whole pages — the nuanced facial expressions, settings and conversations mirrored the detail in her mind.

It depicted every conversation she had with Oscar regarding her little missions complete with floating speech bubbles accurate to the letter. She captured the moment she realized that she was responsible for framing Mayfair and the tragedy of Mayfair's death. She was sure to show that she tracked down Oscar with the intention of bringing him to justice.

And with painful attention to detail she drew the events in the barn including her finding out she wasn't Taylor Shaw after all, Oscar's attempt to ZIP her again, and his (accidental) death. It ended with her return to her safe house and subsequent arrest.

It was a complete confession. Jane damned herself, utterly.

The only things she didn't include were the private moments… the dreamlike kisses she shared with Kurt and shining moments of camaraderie with the team. Those were hers; they were special and she couldn't bear to see them stripped apart and analyzed. Besides, the team might be humiliated to be reminded of their intimacy with a spy.

She tidied the thick stack of paper and slid it into a folder. As a final touch, Jane penned a final note to accompany the confession and tucked it behind the last page.

It was morning of the next day… or was it the day after? Kurt was in a change of clothes… maybe it was the day after that?

She was sore and stiff and Jane sat staring at the confession for several long minutes searching her soul to determine whether or not she was ready for this step.

With aching resolution, Jane slowly walked towards Kurt and pressed the bundle into his chest. His hands reached out for her and she was pretty sure he asked her a question but she ignored everything. She didn't want to see his face; she turned her back until she heard him leave the room.

It was time to prepare.

…

* * *

...

For days, Jane had been single-mindedly ignoring everyone and everything; she devoted her entire attention to the file in Kurt's hand. As the team had trooped in and out of her room on schedule, they had respected her privacy — no one knew her secret project. And now, here it was.

Scrawled on the front of the file were the words "For the Team."

The team assembled in the conference room quickly, and circled the innocuous blue folder. Jane's project had inspired burning curiosity from everyone.

"So… are we going to open it?" Patterson asked the obvious.

Kurt took a deep breath, "Yes," and he flipped it open.

Zapata gasped as she took in the incredibly detail of the exposed story line. "This is Jane! What night is this?"

"That's my apartment," Weller responded numbly. He recognized the moment from the smile on Jane's face, it was the night she had kissed him. Instead he said, "This is the night that we caught David's killer."

"Why would she start there…?" Patterson asked, her body recoiling from even the mention of that day.

"There's only one way to find out," and Reade flipped to the next page.

In confused horror, they watched Jane's violent abduction unfold. They flipped pages and watched as Carter tortured her and was then shot in front of her eyes. They were introduced to Oscar and read the words from the phone video that ripped Jane's reality to shreds.

"How could this happen and we had no idea?" was Patterson's first response.

"Because Jane didn't tell us," Reade reasoned, "She kept it a secret this whole time. She lied."

"Jane's world fell apart; try to imagine how traumatizing this must have been," Zapata snapped, "She found out she was the villain in her story and _her world fell apart_. She must have been petrified."

"Let's keep going," Kurt cut off the argument. This explained so much about Jane's behaviour after that night.

…

The pages turned more rapidly now. They gasped in shock as Oscar lied to Jane and told her that she was Taylor Shaw. They watched in twisted fascination as Oscar gave Jane her first mission and how innocent it appeared, just switching pens, and how Jane was torn between getting answers and doing a bizarre task. After she completed the first task, Jane tried to stop. She had refused to be their asset, she had chosen the FBI. Jane's struggle bled through the pages— but…

"They were going to kill you, Weller!" Patterson gasped.

"That doesn't matter, don't you see what is happening here." Reade was angry— furious even, "The pen and the GPS— Jane set up Mayfair… her actions put falsified evidence into play."

"Oh God… it _was_ Jane," Zapata choked out, "But she had no idea. They couldn't have picked a better threat— she must have felt like she had no choice…

"Looking at this is horrible," Patterson groaned miserably, "It's like waiting for a car crash to happen."

Kurt was silent. This was like a nightmare come to life. It looked like Jane _was_ a Trojan horse placed in their midst — an innocent spy. A spy who framed Mayfair because she was trying to protect _him_.

…

It was interesting to view the incident with sniper from Jane's perspective. Her handler, Oscar, had wanted to extract her, but she had gone back for Weller, Zapata and Reade on the tanker. She still considered them to be her team. In the next pages, Oscar instructed her to get closer to Weller— and she refused. Kurt confirmed that she made no overtures to him and in fact pushed him closer to Allie.

"Even I'll admit, it's sick the way they are manipulating her," Reade interjected with disgust.

Patterson added, "It sucks that she lied to us, but I don't think that she felt she had any other choice."

"She could have told us the truth. We would have helped her." Kurt whispered in disappointment.

"But, BUT — she would never risk your life, Kurt. She had no way of knowing what other eyes they had in the NYO." Tasha clasped his shoulder in sympathy.

In the drawn confession, Jane revealed how Oscar had given her photos of "her" childhood and encouraged her to falsify memories.

"Well, at least we know where the lies came from. But, at this point, she thought she was Taylor Shaw and she didn't know they were lies," Patterson offered.

…

The hardest pictures to view, were the ones concerning Mayfair. Jane realized too late that her "missions" were designed to frame their fair leader. The team knew that Mayfair was following clues to find the orchestrators of the conspiracy… but they had no preparation for the moment when Mayfair stumbled into Jane and Oscar's meeting place.

They saw with painful detail the moment that Oscar shot Mayfair and their eyes scanned the images where Jane tried to save her life, blood pouring all over the floor and her hands. Their tears dripped onto the pages as they read Mayfair's final words.

"It's true then," Zapata's voice shook, "Mayfair's dead."

Patterson sniffled and began to cry. It was one thing to suspect that Mayfair had died, and it was another to know that it was true.

They huddled together and hugged each other as they finally received closure. They could finally mourn and honour the life of the woman who meant so much to them. They even had the identity of her killer.

"You were right, Weller. Your instincts were right— Jane was behind Mayfair's death." Reade bit out coldly as his fist slammed angrily over Jane's image on the table.

Patterson was heartbroken but, to her, the truth was right there, in black and white in front of them. "Jane didn't know, Reade. She didn't know until it was too late what she had done. And she didn't pull the trigger— it was this… Oscar guy." She glared at Oscar's face with hatred, "He— _They_ used Jane like a puppet. Just look at her face here, she was devastated."

"But she did lie," Zapata admitted bleakly, "If she had told the truth from the beginning, this would never have happened."

"We can't know that," Weller interjected. He felt no satisfaction that his instincts had been partially correct, "Following events from her perspective, she made bad choices—yes. But she made those decisions with the information she had at the time. And she made those choices with good intentions; she tried to protect us. Using hindsight isn't fair. I know we are frustrated and she is not innocent in this… but we have to judge her fairly."

…

The final pages depicted Jane's anger and vigilante hunt for Oscar. The scenes in the barn were traumatic and violent. Jane was shocked when Oscar revealed that she wasn't Taylor Shaw and terrified at the threat of ZIP. There special note of the name "Shepherd."Even as they saw Jane's horror when she accidentally killed Oscar, there was satisfaction in seeing Mayfair's killer die. On the second-to-last page, Jane returned to her safe house.

After that, they all knew the terrible turn of events. They had gone through nearly the entire story in only a few short hours.

The last page was a neatly written note…

...

 _To the Weller, Reade, Zapata and Patterson,_

 _This is a faithful and true depiction of events from my perspective; I hope that they help your investigation. You've put up with me long enough and I'm sorry that I was too much of a coward to tell you earlier. It is time to end this._

 _I know that my actions betrayed your team and I apologize. It was the last thing that I wanted. I tried my best to keep everyone safe, but I failed. I thought I was protecting you, but everything went wrong._ _I will never forgive myself. You took me in, and I repaid you with deceit and suffering. Actions like mine don't deserve forgiveness._

 _Apologies are inadequate. I understand why you gave me to the CIA. And now that you know the truth, I'm aware you will probably return me to their custody._

 _The mistake was mine. You were my family and I ruined everything._

 _I am so sorry,_

 _Jane_

* * *

 _..._

"Jesus, Jane," Reade rubbed his hands through his hair, "This is so frustrating. I want to blame her but it's so hard to be angry _at her_. She was just a stupid pawn and they broke her."

"I know, I wish she hadn't kept us in the dark," Patterson nodded. "If we'd known… but you're right, we can never know what might have happened if things had gone differently."

"The guilt must have been eating her alive," Zapata was still re-reading the note, "Jane wasn't innocent, but she thought she was doing the right thing; she did try to protect us despite great personal cost. And I think we can all agree, that she's paid the heaviest price. We lost Mayfair but she lost everything."

Kurt tried to be so stoic as they went through the confession. Each page was a bullet in his chest, a realization of how much he had failed and how much had gone on under his nose. but, this was the last straw, "I never let her explain. She was going to tell me the truth that night but I was so upset about Taylor that I just arrested her. We could have known the truth months ago and gotten through this together and instead we were left hanging and she went through hell." He palmed his face in his hands.

Reade was getting tired of all the apologies. No more, it was time to redirect everyone's anger towards a more worthy target. "Don't apologize, Weller, this whole mess is because we were all manipulated by the organization that Jane used to be a part of. They orchestrated everything, they exploited Jane, and they framed and killed Mayfair. They are the ones that deserve the blame."

"Agreed," Zapata chimed in, "I'm tired of being a puppet, and I bet Jane is too."

"They've taken enough from us, they won't take any more from this team."

…

* * *

...

If you have time, please let me know what you think of this chapter. I was enthusiastic about this confession idea but also a little nervous to post it... so I am excited to know your thoughts.

Did you like the drawn confession idea?

In the next chapter the team will continue to hash out the confession. But I have obviously made them much more empathetic to Jane's situation. Given that they have spent weeks becoming very attached and sympathetic towards her and because, before Jane arrived, Weller (at least) had sorted through a lot of his feelings through therapy... I'm stubborn enough to think it is plausible in this timeline.

* * *

I know a lot of you were anticipating that Jane would speak but I have a very specific situation in mind that causes her to start talking again and it is coming sooner rather than later but not yet.

 **My Question:**

I've plotted what drives Jane to start speaking… But I haven't actually decided what I want those words to be. I have ideas, but I haven't picked anything for sure…

which brings me to you guys… my AWESOMELY CREATIVE AND SUPER COOL readers. (Shameless flattery :) )

 **What do you think Jane's first words should be?**

Even if you have a general idea of whether they are words in anger, a joke or an innocent response to a question… I would love to hear what you think.

* * *

*** Hopefully you find this to be a creative challenge rather than a frustrating author request


	10. The Breaking Point

Wow. Just. Wow.

All of you who responded with ideas and reviews are just amazing. My mind is now full of all kinds of ideas for new stories and new scenes. So just **THANK YOU** for your time and creativity.

There are so many, I wish I could use them all; I am going to try to incorporate as many as I can in some way and, who knows, maybe you may see them in a one-shot, out-take or another story.

* * *

 **Warning! Angst ahead:**

Now, before you read this… I am aware that some of you may view Jane's behaviour as quite dark.

At this point in the story, I imagine, that Jane has realized how comfortable she had gotten with the team and she is terrified of that vulnerability. She wants to force them to behave in a manner she can understand, so she has given them every reason to turn on her.

She needs to believe that the team is only pretending to care about her because a) she hates/blames herself b) it is the only narrative that makes sense to her and she desperately trying to make sense of how the team is treating her c) it would be completely crushing for her to trust them as family again only to have them hate her later

I know it is a long rationalization but this chapter is special to me.

Warning over. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

...

Chapter 10

The Breaking Point

...

Jane's confession was in the hands of the team. At this very moment, they were probably looking through her drawings. At this second, the truth might have dawned on them that she was a wolf in sheep's clothing. She was their betrayer… and then they would return to this room armed with a million new reasons to despise her.

 _If I were them, I would hate me too._

Jane wasn't sure how long it would take for them to return, so she used every minute of time to strategize a game plan. Jane's chances of survival hinged on her breaking out of the NYO. Once she succeeded, it would be simple to get lost in a city like New York.

She entertained several escape plans. Jane blocked out any doubts that her body couldn't handle the challenge. At this point, she had no choice.

Now, the team wouldn't need to spend time with her… they had her confession. Jane should have a lot more time alone. In their absence, she had the opportunity to pick the lock on her door and find a way to bypass the nurse and/or agents. Jane knew the building well enough to evade capture on the way out.

Realistically, Jane had to anticipate a higher level of security if they viewed her as a possible threat, so a simple escape may not be a viable option. There was always a chance she could take out any extra guards without too much difficulty if she was cautious.

If not, Jane's final escape plan involved that critical window when she was inevitably transferred out of the building by the CIA. If she managed to hone or attain a tool to pick her cuffs and used her home-court advantage, it was still possible to evade Keaton— well, it wasn't impossible.

If nothing went according to plan, Jane had a final, desperate solution. Her gaze unwittingly went to the top dresser drawer where she had hidden one of her dinner knives. Just the thought of its purpose hollowed her heart and filled her limbs with lead. She had nothing else to offer— all her secrets were laid bare and she was currently useless— it didn't leave a lot to live for. It wasn't the end she wanted, but Jane knew, if Keaton ever got his hands on her again, there was not a single hope of life.

She would prefer to end it on her own terms.

Anxious to keep her thoughts forward-focused instead of on her last resort, Jane brought her mind back around to the present. All her escape plans would be executed in the near future, but she needed to concern herself with the team's immediate reaction.

Jane expected them to return livid and vengeful. Time with the CIA had been an apt punishment, but the team hadn't witnessed nor physically participated in it. She was a killer, a liar and a spy… she had hurt them deeply and irrevocably. They would want a chance to mete out their own form of punishment and she needed to be ready.

She understood it. She deserved it. It made sense.

In Jane's experience, the punishment for spies like her… was secret and violent. She had no identification, no rights and no one to fight for her. Jane had no real reason to expect any better treatment from the team, than she had from the CIA. After all, now she was of no further use and they had sent her to the CIA in the first place.

Jane had never thought of her team as maliciously violent but revenge twisted a person. She had experienced the darkest side of humanity— she knew better than anyone that every person was capable of brutality. Anger, especially long-repressed anger, could turn vicious and Jane wasn't in any position to deny them a fair turn to pay her back for her sins.

Any minute now, the jig would be up. Now that the team had their confession, they would no longer be obliged to be nice to her. There would be nothing to hold them back. Jane couldn't afford to waste any energy on the hope that they would show mercy. To believe otherwise, would only make her more vulnerable.

It would be four against one… she knew how to deal with pain. She didn't know whether to hope that her body wouldn't sustain long-term damage that would hinder her escape plans… or to hope that it would be bad enough to end it all for good.

…

* * *

...

The team poured over the pictures for hours. They cried over Mayfair and they toasted her life. They had long suspected she was dead, but the knowledge Jane provided, finally allowed them some closure.

The biggest topic of debate was how to deal with Jane.

"All I'm saying is that I wouldn't mind asking her a few more questions. Look at what we have learned— I want to nail these people to the wall." Reade had been arguing that Jane was clearly a source of intelligence against the organization that had masterminded the initial plot.

Zapata was frustrated with her friend, "Given what she has confessed, I think Jane _would_ be willing to help us stop them— but I think you're crazy, if you think you're going to go barging into her room with a list of questions. Do you know how much strength it must have taken for her to confess all this?"

"I wouldn't barge!" Reade emphasized defensively, "Besides, who knows how time sensitive the information is. Jane is an asset."

"Jane is a _member of this team_!" Zapata shot back, "Who has spent months being questioned on this very subject by the CIA. We are not going to question her until she is ready. For once, we are going to protect our teammate."

"What if she _lied_? We can't just blindly believe her story; we are obliged to verify it." Reade hated being the bad guy, but they needed to be practical.

Zapata rolled her eyes and faux role-played sarcastically, "Okay, _I'm Jane_. I just got back from being tortured by the CIA for four months. You know what sounds like a fun trust exercise? How about I confess to framing the former Assistant Director of the FBI, colluding with a terrorist organization and witnessing the deaths of the Assistant Directors of the CIA and FBI. Because wouldn't that be _genius_."

"I didn't mean that—"

"Plus, her details were accurate down to the room where we found Mayfair's blood…"

"Okay, okay enough." Weller pushed his body in the middle of Zapata and Reade, "We aren't going to get anywhere until we talk to Jane."

Patterson had been pacing anxiously up and down the room for almost half an hour running Jane's confession through her head. "Guys? Jane gave us this knowledge with the expectation that we are going to use it to arrest her again… What exactly are we going to do here?"

"See, that's what I mean. If Jane thinks she is going to be arrested… why would she confess? It's suspicious..." Reade played devil's advocate again.

"Right before she started drawing, Jane had a terrible nightmare. It wasn't anything new, we've all seen them. When she woke up, she froze up for a while then got upset and went into the bathroom. When she finally came out... I don't know… The way Jane looked at me…"

Tasha knew immediately the look he was describing, Jane often would get this sorrowful, searching expression on her face usually after they had shared a friendly moment together. "She looked at you like she was confused about why you were there with her— Like she was disappointed."

Patterson caught onto their train of thought and added her own insight, "Like she was suddenly afraid she had revealed too much and she was afraid of what you might do. Plus there are those dark self-portraits…"

Reade's mouth twisted, "So, what are you saying?"

"Jane has been uncertain of us," Kurt explained wearily, "I think Jane confessed this to us because she has been _waiting_ for us to turn on her and she expects that this truth will be the catalyst."

"Are you saying she wants to be arrested?"

"No, I'm saying… I'm afraid, that Jane can't foresee any other outcome from this, other than us hating her as much as she hates herself.

…

* * *

...

Jane stood in the centre of her room; she was waiting patiently for the team to return. She steeled herself for their reaction; she would endure this.

When they finally arrived, Jane kept her head down. As much as Jane anticipated the sneers of disdain, screaming recriminations and physical abuse… she didn't really want to see it. This confrontation would be tough enough.

Jane stood firm and hid her fear behind a blank face. She kept her body loose and relaxed— tensing would only cause more pain.

When four pairs of shoes entered Jane's peripheral vision she waited… silence… stillness. She had thought they would lay into her immediately. She thought they would say something or at the very least drag her away to a holding cell to await her punishment. She had never seen a torture room at the FBI— then again, she hadn't seen a lot of things.

Jane looked up warily; they were either beginning with a psychological torture tactic or they hadn't decided on where to begin. The waiting was grating her nerves, she needed them to start- she needed them to start so that it could be over…

She could give them a clue. Jane _had_ thought about this, but hadn't thought the situation would actually arise. Jane bitterly acknowledged that her preparation had been entirely too thorough… and then she tried not to linger on why that would be.

Keeping her hands raised innocently, Jane made slow steps towards the bed. Reaching underneath, she picked up the slat she had removed from the bed frame as a potential weapon for escape. In the same cautious gait, Jane moved to stand in front of Weller.

Jane forced her muscles to stay steady as she held out the wooden slat for him to take. His face twisted and brow furrowed as he took the slat with a bewildered expression. Jane took a step back, sucked in a deep breath and relaxed her arms to her sides. Her body was vulnerable, exposed and ready.

Jane kept her eyes closed — it would be easier to drift away if she couldn't see. It would be easier to compartmentalize this, if she didn't have to remember their faces as they wreaked vengeance on her body. Jane heard Patterson sob, someone on the right took a half-step forward and Reade swore angrily. Still, she didn't move a muscle. It wasn't until she heard the slat clatter to the floor that she cracked one eyelid…. then the other.

Kurt's eyes blazed and he looked furious. Jane's gaze moved down the line… everyone looked upset. She should have expected this, a simple beating would be a small punishment to pay for the mistakes she made. Keaton had gotten months... Clearly, they were insulted by her paltry sacrifice.

 _Did they want more? How much would be enough? What was the price for Mayfair's life?_

A small voice in her head whispered, _Maybe they aren't going to hurt you. Maybe they just want to talk._ Hope could kill faster than a bullet… Jane snuffed the voice out.

With a shuddering sigh, Jane let her gaze drop and she shuffled over to the dresser to fish through the folded clothes and find her hidden knife. She hated to surrender her best weapon — but she needed this to end. Besides, she could be resourceful later.

With the blade firmly in her grasp she held it, handle-first, out for Kurt to take.

The silence was deafening. No one made a move and she cursed her weakness when her hand began to tremble. She searched her brain furtively for an explanation. With a listless shrug, Jane let her hand drop. She didn't understand the delay. If they were trying to scare her, it wasn't working— she knew what an utter lack of humanity looked, and felt, like.

Jane raised the knife again and offered it to Reade and Zapata instead. Perhaps the enforcers wanted to be in charge of the punishment. So focused on her task, Jane was was startled when Kurt ripped the knife out of her hands with fierce growl, "No more, Jane, what are you _doing?_ " and he flung the knife to the floor.

Jane stared as the blade skidded across the floor and hit the wall with a thunk.

…

"Janie, what are you doing? Do want us to _hurt_ you?" Kurt couldn't keep the heartbroken emotion out of his voice.

Jane looked at them, so small and lost. Her shoulders gave the barest shrug and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Patterson, quickly thinking on her feet, handed Jane a notebook and pen, "Please explain, Jane, we don't understand."

Until the note attached to the drawn confession, Jane had opted against written communication. But, Kurt supposed, her decision to finally convey events had broken a dam. Jane scribbled a few words and then held the notebook out for Kurt to read.

"Now you all know the terrible things I've done; you must want to make me pay for it. I understand. I'm ready."

Even as Kurt read it out loud, Jane had dropped to her knees to pick the slat up off the floor.

Reade dropped to the floor beside her, "No, Jane. We don't want that. Please stop, we won't do that to you."

Jane snatched the notebook out of Kurt's hands and frustratedly wrote… "You gave me to the CIA and let them do it. How is this any different?"

It was Tasha's turn, "I know you don't believe this, Jane, but we never gave you to the CIA on purpose. We really didn't know what they were doing until we found you. Even if we had known the truth then… you never deserved the torture you went through."

Jane looked confused, but she pursed her lips and wrote… "Then why _are_ you here?"

With eyes bright with emotion, Patterson moved to stand squarely in front of Jane, "Right now, we need to know if your confession was the truth."

Jane's sincerity was unflinching as she boldly wrote… "YES"… and turned it around for the team to see.

Reade asked, "Did you knowingly frame Mayfair for murder and then lay a trap to kill her."

Jane's wounded eyes watered… "NO"

"Why didn't you tell us what was going on, Jane. We would have helped you." Zapata put forward sadly.

Jane's eyes took on a fevered look as she frantically wrote… "They said they would kill Kurt— hurt you. They had so much access, I couldn't risk it."

The truth hit Kurt hard. He had already seen it in her drawings, but knowing that she had gone through so much to protect him… that he was partly the cause of all this, was a terrible burden. Still, he needed to know, "Did you pretend to be Taylor Shaw?"

Jane was slow to write this time… "I never felt connected to Taylor, but you and Oscar both said that I was her, so I believed it. I didn't know it was a lie until the end. I'm sorry."

In his gut and his heart, Kurt knew Jane wasn't lying. He believed her story. Now, it was time to make Jane understand her place in all this and her continued place on this team. "Jane, who's fault is this?"

Jane didn't bother writing anything. She pressed her right hand hard against her heart. They could see her throat working and her jaw clenching before she silently mouthed the word, "Mine."

"No, Jane. You were a weapon in the hand of a terrorist organization, but they are the ones at fault."

Jane's face crumpled and her eyes had begun to water as she desperately scrawled… "Aren't you angry? Don't you hate me for what I did?"

The team turned to Kurt; she needed to hear the answer from him, "We are hurt and angry that you lied for so long. We are frustrated by the things that might have gone differently if you had trusted us. We are shocked by how much was going on behind the scenes while we had no idea. And, yes, It does make us look at you differently."

Jane's body began to shrink in on itself but Kurt continued, "It makes us see that, despite everything, you were loyal. Seeing events from your perspective made it clear that you were in a difficult situation. You were facing an identity crisis, blackmail, yet you still tried to protect this team— even if it didn't turn out that way." Kurt stepped forward and gently put his hands on Jane's shoulders to emphasize his last point, "We don't hate you, Jane."

Kurt willed Jane to believe him, to trust that he wasn't lying to her. She met his penetrating stare through his whole speech and whatever Jane saw in Kurt's eyes seemed to reach through to her. She blinked her eyes rapidly as her eyes began to water and her chin began to tremble. Kurt could see that she was starting to fall apart.

He closed the gap between them and caught Jane just as her body started to collapse. She pressed her wet cheek against Kurt's thudding heart and clutched the back of his shirt with both hands. It had been so long… so long since she had voluntarily allowed him to hold her, since she had allowed herself to be vulnerable.

Kurt's own eyes flooded with tears as he met the team's relieved expressions from over Jane's head. He could feel Jane's tears dampening his shirt and was ready to give her as much time as she needed. He only hoped his arms could let her go when she was ready.

The team opted to give the two of them some time alone. It had been an emotional and tumultuous day, to say the least, and they all needed a drink.

When the door shut behind the team, Kurt angled the two of them towards the couch and slowly lowered them into a sitting position. Jane hadn't let go, and unconsciously curled into his side with her head tucked under his chin. For a long time, Kurt simply sat and stroked her back, both of them comforted by the other's touch.

It was an amazing thing for this woman to trust him, he hoped he never lost it again.

...

… (I almost ended it here… but you guys are awesome…so I pulled from the next chapter)…

...

The peaceful moment couldn't last forever. Jane eventually realized what she had done and where she was sitting. She couldn't help but stiffen. It was unfathomable… they— they didn't hate her? They didn't even try to make her pay… they told her that they understood… they empathized…

 _I don't understand. I don't know what to do. What happens now?_

She uncurled her body and lifted off of Kurt's chest. She looked up and flushed when she realized the focus of Kurt's intense blue gaze was entirely on her; her cheeks warmed and she ducked away.

A teasing smile lifts one corner of his mouth and her heart thumped hard in her chest. Stupid heart, she swivelled her head and stared straight ahead.

"Do you want to know anything else?" Jane wrote nervously.

Kurt looked conflicted, like he was afraid to ask his question… but eventually he queried, "Why did you pretend to have memories of Taylor, when you didn't? Why did you say you remembered fishing?"

Jane should have known that Kurt would want to know about Taylor. The answer was personal and embarrassing, but she wanted to be honest. She took her time to write her answer and gave the notebook to Kurt. It read… "It would be easy to say that I blurted them out when your dad asked, because he was dying and I wanted to be kind. The truth is, that I wanted to be Taylor so badly. I thought, If I believed it hard enough, it would all come back."

"Thank you, Jane."

She waited… was that it? Was that all he wanted to know? She waited a few minutes, but Kurt seemed content to simply sit with his arms wrapped loosely around her. Shifting awkwardly, Jane twisted her lips and wrote her own question… "Did you really not send me to the CIA to punish me?"

She held herself stiffly as she searched his face for a truthful answer. He looked so pained when he read her question, "No Jane. We never lied about that, we never gave you to the CIA on purpose. We didn't look into it as well as we should have but we didn't think they would hurt you. Clearly, I didn't think at all."

It was hard for Jane to believe him, the opposite had been literally beaten into her. But she had always been able to read Kurt. He wasn't lying, and she was finally in a place where she was almost ready to believe it.

Her next question was the most important. It would determine how she would move forward from this point. With shaking hands she wrote… "Are you going to arrest me now?"

Kurt didn't pause, "No. You are a member of this team and we are going to work through this."

He couldn't just decide that, Jane followed up by scribbling… "But — I helped a terrorist group infiltrate the FBI…"

"Under threat of blackmail. You completed small, random tasks in an attempt to prevent a larger crime. You didn't know the endgame."

He was being ridiculous. Her crimes were too big to ignore… "I was involved in the deaths of the Assistant Directors of the CIA and the FBI."

Kurt had an answer ready, "In both cases you were an unwilling bystander who took no part in the actual murder. There was no evidence of you at any of these scenes which would make it difficult to convict you anyway."

Jane didn't want this. She was ready to pay for her crimes, she didn't want the team to get penalized on her behalf… "You will all get in trouble for protecting me"

Kurt squeezed his arms tighter around her until he had her full attention, "Believe me, it will not be hard to convince Pellington that your assistance in this case will be worth your protection. He _will_ make you a deal."

Kurt was asking her to trust him. It felt like he was asking for everything. Trusting him would mean holding off on her escape plans. It would mean staying here within the control of the FBI. It could mean being questioned by them and possibly the CIA as well.

If he was being honest, though, it could also mean another chance at family and friends. It could mean support as she pursued the organization that manipulated her. It could mean a life and Kurt.

Jane wanted it all so badly except… Life had shattered her to pieces so many times - she wasn't sure if she even resembled a person anymore. Each time Jane glued the fragments together, she became smaller and smaller as parts of herself were lost along the way. She was cracked and jagged and ugly.

She stared down at Kurt's hands. It was so tempting; it was everything she wanted.

…

* * *

...

My longest chapter by a mile. But I really wanted to thank you all for your kind reviews and favourites.

Hopefully, this emotional chapter came across the way I wanted it to. This chapter is special to me because it was actually the inspiration for this entire story... so it's near and dear to my heart (in a dark and angsty sort of way)

Please let me know what you thought and if you enjoyed it.


	11. An Unwelcome Guest

Wow is this a crazy time of year. Anyways, another chapter for you all, I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter 11

An Unwelcome Guest

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It felt like the calm after the storm.

Everyone had laid their cards on the table. Truths and feelings were exposed and Kurt finally felt like everyone was on the same page. They were finally a team again; all of them. It felt like progress- like a great weight had fallen from his shoulders.

The day after the emotional confrontation, Jane smiled warmly at them when they entered the room and continued to communicate through her notebook. Borden said that Jane had even opened up a little in their session. By that, he meant that she had acknowledged his presence and nodded occasionally. But it was better than nothing.

Patterson had given Jane some tattoo files to keep her occupied while she was waiting to be cleared for physical therapy. She still kept mainly to her room, but, Kurt had noticed that she felt much more comfortable to leave it. Jane made occasional excursions around the NYO offices and had made a couple ventures into the bullpen.

Following Jane's breakthrough, Kurt had followed through with what he promised. He contacted Director Pellington as soon as he was able. Without revealing the graphic confession, Kurt told his boss the necessary details and, more importantly, that Jane was willing to help the FBI. She would be an undisputed resource to ferret out the terrorist group responsible for Mayfair's death and the wealth of information behind Jane's tattoos.

Kurt had been correct, Pellington restored Jane's status as an asset pending her assistance.

Her drawn confession was lost to a hidden safe, never to be seen again as far as Kurt was concerned. Pellington agreed that Jane's ties to the organization were well worth a deal. There was no proof of Jane at any of the murder scenes. Mayfair's body was never found and there were no witnesses to her interactions with Oscar.

Kurt told himself that he wasn't burying her disclosure… he was avoiding the complication of a confession without evidentiary proof. It pained him to circumvent the system he worked so hard to uphold. Justice would have to be served by taking down that terrorist organization. He could see that Jane had no protection within the laws of this country; even if he wanted to convict her for her involvement… the CIA would snatch her up again. It would serve no purpose and he could not fail again. That was what he told himself to rationalize hiding the confession.

The truth was, he was prepared to protect Jane no matter what.

Kurt pushed for as many securities as Pellington was willing to give. Jane was reinstated in official capacity as part of Kurt's team. He was cleared to take Jane into the field once she was cleared by medical. Pellington agreed to use his discretion about Jane's alleged dealings with Mayfair, Carter and Keaton as well as their deal to avoid any hint of scandal. He even agreed to go to bat for him, should the CIA prove unruly. It wasn't much, but Kurt new it would matter to Jane. He vowed that he would find a way to do more… a way to give her an identity so that she would feel like she had more security.

Kurt only wished he had a chance to tell Jane all of this _before_ the incident.

With Jane, it often went two steps forward and one step back, so they were all prepared for some backsliding or pull back. They weren't ready, however, for the decidedly unwelcome surprise that strolled into the NYO a couple days later.

It turns out that it hadn't been the calm after the storm… it had been the eye of the hurricane.

…

* * *

...

Keaton opted to arrive unannounced; he preferred to catch his prey unaware. In this case, surprise was key, he hoped to leave with a prize and it would be much easier to attain if he could catch everyone off guard.

The CIA was excellent at digging up dirty deeds. Like he predecessor, Keaton had learned that the easiest way to find information was by finding weaknesses. A junior agent on the Critical Response Unit's floor had been feeding him information on Jane Doe, in return for hiding the truth about his wife's illegally immigrated family.

Weller and his team had closed ranks around Jane, which made it difficult to find out anything. Keaton knew that Jane still hadn't spoken— disappointing, to be sure. But, his little lackey had excitedly told him that there were some big developments in the last couple days.

Apparently, Assistant Director Weller had left Doe's room with a hefty blue folder and had spent hours sequestered in a conference room with his team. The next day, orders from Pellington came down that Jane was to be reinstated to the CRU team.

Evidently, Jane had lowered her defences and begun to communicate. He wanted access to the details she had revealed; they must have been juicy to attract Pellington's attention.

However, now that the FBI had done its job to break through Doe's shell, it was time for him to take his pet project back and really make her "talk."

With a few agents trailing behind him, Keaton sauntered through the foyer and pushed the button for the elevator. He couldn't wait to see Jane's face when he invaded her team's office. A menacing grin curled his lips… and then the doors opened.

…

* * *

...

Kurt checked his watch, as he and Zapata came back… She shot him a knowing glance when she saw him check his watch for the third time; he ignored it. Jane was just about to finish her session with Borden and Kurt liked to "run into her" in the hallway afterwards to see how she was feeling. Then they would have lunch together.

They were crossing the bullpen, when Zapata's stride slowed. He heard her audibly suck in her breath and she roughly snagged his arm. Her fingers were clawing into his wrist, "Weller, look! What is that bastard doing here?"

Kurt saw Keaton.

And slammed to a halt.

Kurt took one look at that man stepping off the elevator into his bullpen— into his territory— and his eyes immediately looked for Jane. _Where was she? Is she safe?_

He met Tasha's worried gaze with blazing urgency, "Zapata, intercept Jane and make sure she is secure. I'll take care of this." Then Kurt was off to defend his territory, battle mask in place.

Keaton spotted Kurt from across the bullpen and waved casually. Kurt kept his posture poised and unhurried, he would not give that man an inch. "Assistant Direction Keaton, what a…" he let the pause drop heavily between them as he gave Keaton an unimpressed once-over, "… surprise."

Keaton's smile strained slightly but he gave no other indication of the insult, "Assistant Direct Weller, I was in the area and thought I would come by and discuss our _shared project_."

How dare he even suggest they had anything in common, "We have no 'shared project,' but I would prefer to talk in my office… after you." Kurt didn't want that snake at his back.

Most of the bullpen had fallen silent as the two Assistant Directors passed through. The air was filled with tension, it was impossible to miss. Reade and Zapata (once she returned) stood outside of Weller's office as an imposing barrier between the glass walls and the interested gazes of the office.

"Nice office," Keaton stated glibly as he took a seat.

"Cut the chit chat, Keaton," Kurt bit out through gritted teeth. It was taking everything in him not to deck the other man for his shit-eating grin. "I'm not going to play nice with you."

Keaton spread his arms out warmly, "Come now, Weller, I think we both know that a big part of the job is maintaining at least a facade of diplomatic niceties with other agencies."

Kurt crossed his arms and maintained stone-faced. The arrogance, the unmitigated gall of this sadistic man strolling into the NYO and demanding courtesies was beyond the pale. This man deserved a beatdown not a handshake.

"For example, I loaned you my prisoner. But, I believe I've been more than generous; you've had enough time with her and now I'd like her back." An eery gleam came into Keaton's eyes as he spoke of Jane. It set Kurt's teeth on edge.

"No." he stated calmly. Over his dead body with this man come within feet of Jane. _Never again._

"I should remind you that she was officially in my custody, it is within my rights to take her. But I would prefer to keep things… simple." Keaton liked loaded pauses too, it seemed.

"'Was' is the key word in that statement. Jane has reclaimed her status as an FBI asset, I'm afraid she is integral to a case we are working on. You can take it up with my Director at a later date. We are done." Kurt stood and hovered aggressively over the smaller man.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Weller." The threat hung ominously in the air.

"Absolutely. Now, get out."

"Remember that I tried to do this nicely."

Kurt hauled Keaton out of his chair and personally walked the man back to the elevators. Keaton dragged his feet leaving the offices, preferring to continue with condescending small talk. He spoke loud and clear, his voice traveling; Kurt knew he wanted word of his presence to spread throughout the bullpen. He suspected that Keaton wanted Jane to find out that he had been there. It left a sickening feeling in Kurt's stomach.

His gut was telling him that something was wrong. He needed to see Jane.

Kurt had a trusted agent escort the CIA agents down and report when they left the building. He wouldn't put anything past a man like Keaton. As soon as the elevator door shut, however, he grabbed Zapata and Reade by the arms, "We need to check on Jane. Where's Patterson?"

Zapata bristled, "She's fine, Kurt. I got her to her room before anything happened. You'll see…"

But when they got to her room… it was empty.

"Oh, Shit."

…

* * *

...

Jane was just leaving her morning session with Borden when Zapata met her at the door. That was a surprise, lately Kurt met her after her therapy session. He pretended it was a coincidence and she pretended to be surprised. She looked forward to the tradition, so Zapata's unexpected presence and feigned calm sent warning bells through her brain.

"Hey Jane! How was your session with Borden… good?"

Jane nodded cautiously.

"Great! Listen, Weller wanted me to let you know that he wants to share lunch with you but an impromptu meeting came up. If you want to wait in your room, he will come find you as soon as he's done."

Jane let Zapata usher her back to her room and didn't put up any fight. She acted like she hadn't noticed the high pitched agitation in Tasha's voice as she chattered, or the way her strides were half a step longer as they made their way back to her room. Tasha deposited her on the couch and left her with an overly bright smile and reassuring pat on the arm.

Something was definitely up.

Jane counted out three minutes before she opened her door and walked casually down the hallway. She kept a relaxed facade to appear normal and avoid attracting the attention of the pair of agents walking in the opposite direction.

 _Their_ conversation, though, put her acting skills to the test.

"I would give anything to be a fly on the wall in Weller's office, right now," one exclaimed to the other, "Whatever business the Assistant Director of the CIA has with the FBI, Weller looked like he wanted to skin him alive."

"You're exaggerating; Weller totally kept his cool. Besides, Keaton said that he was here to discuss their ' _shared project_ , whatever that means,'" the other rolled his eyes and used sarcastic bunny quotes.

The rest of their conversation disappeared down the hallway with the agents that carried it. For Jane, the world had shifted away. Keaton was here. He was _here_. And she was the "shared project." It was worse than she thought, clearly the team was colluding with Keaton.

The urge to run was overwhelming. Jane fought to get past panic, pain and betrayal to think things through some some semblance of rationality. Her feet kept moving and her heart kept pumping but it felt like her body was dying from the inside out.

Jane mentally eviscerated herself as her eyes burned with unshed tears.

 _You are so stupid. You knew… you KNEW what to expect. You confessed and they pretended to understand to keep you complacent. But they lied. They no longer need you… they hate you… they are giving you back to Keaton. It is exactly as you suspected all along and you were stupid to believe anything they said._

 _The only person you can rely on is yourself._

 _They never wanted you. Shameful. Disgusting. Killer. You are their enemy._

 _They lied… they lied… they lied… and you shouldn't have trusted have no one to blame but yourself. But now you have to save yourself._

 _Escape now, cry later. You need to run. Run now. RUN!_

Her life was in ruins. Again. She would be on the run for the rest of her life, all fifteen minutes or so of it, thanks to her own foolish behaviour.

Jane reached the end of the hallway and paused at the threshold of the bullpen. Her body flinched back around the corner out of sheer instinct at the sight of Keaton through the glass of Kurt's office. It looked like he and Weller were in the middle of their meeting; apparently passing her off required some conversation. Good, it gave her a window of time.

Keaton wasn't alone, he had brought some CIA henchmen with him… they were familiar. Jane fought against the traumatic flashbacks that burst across her vision like punches to the face. Phantom pain made her shudder as she struggled to suppress her vomit reflex.

The elevator was a no go. Re-evaluate.

Jane backed down the hallway to head for the east staircase. She passed her room and turned right, down the hallway towards emergency exit. Shit! Patterson and Borden were at the end of the hall laughing together. Were they there to head her off? She darted into an empty conference room, shut the door quietly behind her and locked it.

Temporary fix. Re-evaluate.

Elevator out. East staircase access out. The west staircase access was on the other side of the bullpen; it was too dangerous to cross. She needed to get to another floor to regain entry to the stairwell. Looking around the room, Jane eyed the low-lying wall vent with interest.

Bingo.

Jane scanned the room diligently and used a discarded paperclip and penny to unscrew the vent quietly from the wall. She worked quickly under pressure and crawled inside. With the grate slid back into place behind her, she used the vent system to drop down into an empty conference room on the floor below.

...

Check the clock. Re-evaluate.

Jane knew she had lost valuable time. She had no way of knowing if Keaton was already looking for her; he could have men waiting on the ground floor. Should she hide out in the vent system until she knew for sure or should she still try the stairs. Maybe she could stow away on a different floor?

No. Definitely the stairs. Hiding was too risky; this building was full of agents ready be utilized. Once they realized that she was missing, it would only be a matter of time until they found her.

As casually as possible, Jane exited the room and made for the exit on this floor. She pushed open the door to the stairwell and silently let it click closed behind her. She crept forward and was just about to start down the steps when she heard a loud slam from above echo on the concrete walls around her.

"Jane! Wait!" She heard a man yell and then speak into his cellphone, "I've got her, east stairwell."

It was Reade. Damn it! Reinforcements would be coming.

She couldn't let herself get pinned in the stairwell. Jane catapulted down the stairs and tried to open the door to access the next available floor. It wouldn't open. She scanned the doorframe for a cause. Jane's heart sunk, she hadn't adapted her plan for new security features. The doors required a keycard and code for entry. She didn't have time to hack this, Reade was almost on top of her.

"Jane, it's not what you think. Please listen, Keaton is gone."

Like she would believe _that_. Jane backed up to attempt to make it down another flight of stairs but Reade was too close— she was trapped. Jane squared her shoulders and lowered her centre of gravity.

"Jane, I am not going to hurt you. Stay calm."

 _You can't give up. You can't go back. They're going to have to shoot you._

Jane heard the door above swing open once more. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, her breathe coming in quick pants. Last chance. She flew forward leading with her right fist, it arced to land on Reade's cheek. Like lightning Jane followed up with the left to strike his nose but he blocked it. Reade seemed reluctant to hit back, his hands grasping to contain or restrain.

"Jane, stop it!" she heard Weller's voice. Reinforcements had arrived. Fuck.

She pressed her back to the wall, her chest heaving in great gasps. Her eyes constantly assessing to find a way out. Kurt, Zapata and Reade had formed a half-circle around her. No escape… she should never have surrendered her knife. She should have attempted her escape immediately after her confession just like she had planned...but she had fallen for their lies.

 _Yes you naivety is sickening but should-have's won't help you now. Look for a weakness. Fight Back!_

Jane's hands slowly raised and fisted as she got herself into a fight stance. Her face was determined but she knew her eyes were wild and wide.

 _Stupid Stupid Stupid. How do you keep making the same mistake over and over? You're defective; probably too broken to get anything right. Maybe death would be the best outcome for you…_

Trapped. Re-evaluate.

She couldn't go through any floor doors without a key card and code. No windows, no accessible vents. If she could get through the team, she may have a chance to exit out on the ground floor. They didn't have guns and weren't carrying any other weapons, but then, neither was she.

"Jane, Keaton left. I know how it looked, but we didn't invite him or expect him; we sent him away. You are _safe_ , I promise."

Ignore him. Think. Could she strike to critically injure so that she could escape. They clearly didn't care about her but Jane had never managed to return the favour. It was either hurt them or go back to the CIA. Time was ticking.

For a second everything was still… and then Jane bolted. With reckless abandon, she threw herself through the gap between Reade and the wall, scraping her shoulder against the concrete and tumbling down the stairs into a heap. Adrenaline and panic helped her push past the pain as Jane rapidly scrambled to her knees, then her feet.

She had to keep going.

Jane felt hands on the back of her shirt, fingertips barely getting a grip on her jacket and trying to tug her back but she arms jerked around and shoved Zapata roughly to dislodge them.

"Ooof SHIT! Keaton's gone, Jane, you don't have to run!"

Their pleas fell on deaf ears as Jane stumbled down the stairs at a run. Large hands fell heavily on her shoulders and threw off her balance causing her to fall backwards on the stairs. Jane landed hard and slid down the steps to the next landing.

"Shit! Are you okay?"

Kurt was at her side and her fist shot out reflexively at his nose, but he knocked it away. She fought desperately— using tooth and nail to wildly battle for freedom. Her limbs aggressively striking anything within her reach as Jane tried to shift onto her side and escape.

Jane was caught up in a wave of panicked haze. She could barely hear Kurt's words but she certainly felt it when his body almost flattened her own. Muscle-corded arms came down on either side of her. huge hands latched onto her slim wrists. His body was pressed on top of hers like a human cage. Jane kicked and rolled, but her muscles and body were nowhere near their previous capacity. She didn't have the strength to push him off. Her body went limp as she stared at those imprisoning hands.

She tried to convince herself that it wasn't over yet— to wait for another opportunity.

 _Conserve your strength and you may have another chance. It's not over until the cuffs are around you wrists and you are in the transport vehicle. Look for an opening. Look for weaknesses. Get a weapon._

But even _she_ wasn't convinced by the urgings of her brain. Jane felt defeated— after this, the team would be too vigilant.

Kurt was staring down at her, chest breathing deep with the effort of chasing her. Her wrists were burning under his touch but she turned and stared at the wall. He smelled nice— familiar and safe.

 _You are so screwed up. Screwed up and screwed._

…

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...

This roughly marks a half way point for this story (at least according to my rough guesstimate) I am curious about your feedback. How are you enjoying it so far. Let me know what you think of the new developments.

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Keaton is my primary villain. But… I will also be bringing Nas into this fic. I know a lot of Blindspot fans have some very strong feelings on Nas which means I will let you guys decide the spin on her character.

Option 1: Would you like a more mild take on Nas as just a character to move the plot forward

Option 2: Do you hate Nas and would like her to be more cold hearted in her brief appearances?


	12. Building Trust

I had a snowy day today so I'm getting this out to you extra early.

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I've said it before and I'll say it again. I love you guys. I love your awesome responsive and creative insight. It really makes this worth it.

Please have no fears on the Nas front: I have ZERO intention of putting her and Weller together, in my opinion they have no chemistry. But I will be using her to push the plot and she will be somewhat manipulative — I tried to find some middle ground.

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Chapter 12

Building Trust

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Kurt's heart was in his throat when they found Jane's room empty. The harrowing minutes felt like hours as the team separated and scoured the floor. It felt like a vice was squeezing the air out of his lungs— like every breathe was a desperate gasp as he tore through the offices with the single-minded focus of a heat-seeking missile.

When he heard Reade's voice yelling out of his cell, that he had found Jane in the east stairwell, Kurt bolted for the exit. He and Zapata almost collided at the doorway as they scrambled to get the door open.

 _Jane must be making a bid for freedom. Well of course, she is - she thinks we are handing her over to Keaton. I promised, after her confession, that she would not be arrested… that Keaton would not take her back. Of course she would be terrified if she heard he had arrived._

 _She thinks I lied. She must think she is running for her life._

 _Thank God Reade found her before she made it out of the building._

By the time Kurt and Zapata arrived on the scene, Jane was a couple floors down and in a tussle with Reade. As he pounded down the steps, Kurt grudgingly admired her resourcefulness to escape a floor full of highly trained agents; she was such a determined fighter. She never gave up... even if she had almost given him a heart attack…

They worked as a unit to circle Jane and try to explain. She needed to understand that Keaton was gone… that she could still trust them… But it was clear that she wasn't hearing a word they were saying. In retrospect, it was a bad idea to trap a wounded animal- you could never predict how they would act. One minute Jane was there and then next she was tumbling down the steps. She had literally thrown herself down the stairs to get away from them. Reade was knocked to the ground but he and Zapata were neck and neck as they flew down after her.

 _Please get up. Please be okay._

Visions of her, sprawled and broken, curdled Kurt's blood; but Jane was already up and running, trying to make it down the staircase. Zapata was ahead; she almost made contact, but Jane pushed her back with a frantic shove. Kurt heard Zapata yelp out an expletive but he only slowed to make sure Tasha was okay before he was was moving on.

Kurt ran faster, his hand reaching out— straining to catch Jane before she hurt herself worse… before it was too late. But he gripped her too hard, the counter-weight of his hands on her shoulders pulled her back. It was his fault when she hit the stairs this time. Each sickening thud of her body bumping down the steps like the pounding of a drum... until she came to a sudden stop at the bottom.

Kurt was by her side in an instant... checking for breath sounds... trying to assess for damages and apologize. Between this fall and the other, he could see bloody scrapes and bruises; he ruefully grimaced at her motley collection.

He barely had time to start an assessment before Jane was struggling to get back on her feet. She was only stunned for a minute before she began to grapple for freedom. Kurt tried to keep her down gently but she was fighting like a feral animal. She was using every trick in the book; not holding back any punches… her nails gouging into his arms... her legs ruthlessly kicking out.

But Kurt didn't feel the pain of her blows all he saw was the strain this frantic fight was putting on Jane's body. She was so desperate to keep moving, but she was hurting herself in the process. He needed to make her stop. He needed to calm her down so she could listen.

Listening to his gut, Kurt dropped on top of Jane and blanketed her with his body to keep her immobile. He covered her from chest to knees. Despite his heavy weight, Kurt could feel her torso bucking and her legs kicking desperately as she tried to dislodge him. It wasn't enough; he secured her wrists in his hands and pressed them against the stairs.

It broke Kurt's heart to have to hold her down— made him feel like a monster. But right now Jane was a bigger danger to herself than anyone. Her struggling was only aggravating her injuries and leaving the NYO would make her too vulnerable. Keaton _had_ left the building… but there was no accounting for where he was this minute. Just the thought of Jane alone in the city sent him into a blind panic. He was keeping her safe, even if she didn't understand right now.

Jane glared at him so intensely — those big green eyes bored right into him— right _through_ him. And then she looked away, her energy flagging. Kurt felt the fight drain out of her and her body went limp. Realistically, after all these months, her body didn't have the same capacity. It was amazing she was able to fight _this_ hard… but he granted that adrenaline was a powerful factor.

"Jane? Jane, I'm sorry for this…I promise I will let you get up soon— but you were injuring yourself. You don't need to run, Keaton is gone."

She didn't response in the slightest. Kurt didn't trust her not to try and escape again before he had a chance to explain… but he couldn't stay here holding captive against the rock-hard steps of the east stairwell.

Kurt cautiously shifted backwards to the landing and sat down. His hands were still locked around Jane's wrists as he hauled her back with him until she was positioned sitting with her back flush against his chest. He threw his legs over top of hers so that they would stay pinned to the ground. Then, still holding onto her wrists, he crossed his arms across her chest. She was secure. She was in his arms.

Kurt took a deep breathe to relax in the knowledge that Jane was safe— he shouldn't have. All his muscles hummed in appreciation of the woman in his arms. His senses were electrified— exquisitely tuned to every shift and nuance. It felt like every inch of his body was molded around hers. Kurt could feel Jane's heartbeat pounding in his own chest. Her small wrists were soft and fragile in his hands. He could feel her muscles tensing and relaxing as she tested the bounds of his hold. And the cloud of her hair wafted hypnotically under his nose.

He murmured calmly in her ear, hoping to talk her down from a fight-flight response. It took several minutes but he finally felt her heart rate begin to slow and her breathe to even out. He prayed she was ready to listen.

He hugged his arms infinitesimally tighter around her and pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades, unconsciously knowing it was right above his own name.

"I just need you to listen, Jane, and then we'll get up. I am not going to hold you captive. I know you're afraid. I know it looked like Keaton was here to take you back into CIA custody. He showed up unexpectedly but I promise that I sent him packing. Pellington gave you the deal, just like I said he would. You are officially back on the team and I am working to making you more secure. We never tricked you; we didn't lie. We all care about you Jane… even Reade over there with the shiner on his face."

With every word, her muscles infinitesimally relaxed. He felt her head turn to verify the story by looking at Reade and Zapata. They were sitting on the steps trying to look non-threatening while nodding fervently. Kurt squeezed her tightly, wishing, by some miracle he could impress the truth on her through touch alone.

He knew Jane still doubted, she would be a fool not to. But he couldn't hold onto her forever… as much as he would like to. "If I let you go, will you let us prove it to you? I promise, I won't let you down."

Her body tensed again and then her curly hair brushed against his chin as she nodded.

 _Thank God_

…

* * *

...

He didn't care about how it looked to anyone. Kurt led Jane back into the office, his hand protectively clasped around her smaller, clammy one. Arguably, it was to make sure she didn't try to slip away again… truthfully, it reassured him that she was still there- that he hadn't lost her again.

Kurt could feel her lagging in his grasp, her head subtly scanning the office for something… Probably an escape route. Damn it. Kurt flicked his eyes to Tasha and Reade and subtly signalled for them to walk a little closer. Closing in, they hemmed Jane into formation as subtly as possible.

She was so stiff, so obviously trying to conceal her thoughts behind a stoic mask as they met in Patterson's office. On the computer screens, Patterson pulled up the video footage of Keaton's visit. Proof— just like he promised.

With laser focus, Jane stared at the screen. When Keaton appeared off the elevator she shuddered at the sight of him. She relentlessly watched his every move and twitch; her mouth sounding out the words she could read on their lips. Jane's eyes grew round in wonder when she realized what Kurt had actually told Keaton. She turned and looked at Kurt with such an open expression of awed gratefulness; it made his heart swell. It felt like he had finally done something that made Jane feel safe— genuinely safe.

Jane turned back to the computers and watched Keaton leave disappointed and empty handed with a sneer on his face. She saw him ride the elevator down to the lobby and she watched his vehicle leave the parkade. Only then did her body relax.

When the last scene ended, Kurt hoped that Jane's need for proof was satisfied because he wasn't sure what else he could offer. He tugged her chair back and spun it around. Kneeling in front her he stared up into her viridescent stare, "Now you know what happened. Do you believe me? Do you feel safe, Jane?"

At first, Jane didn't nod or give any kind of reaction, just a blank face. Then her eyes began to flutter rapidly, their green depths shiny with emotion. With agonizing slowness, she leaned forward and let her arms slide around his neck; grasping tight. Her head rested heavily on his shoulder and he could hear her breathe catch in his ear. Patterson sighed in the background as Kurt tentatively reached up to return the hug.

 _Magic._

Kurt let her squeeze his neck, content to hold her and hold onto this moment. He would never know how long it could have lasted because the peanut gallery behind them coughed and ruined the moment. He felt Jane stiffen then pull back awkwardly and reluctantly did the same.

He knew she might feel embarrassed so he filled the silence. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Patterson can you grab me a first aid kit."

Jane gave him an exasperated glare her hands gesturing to say she was fine.

"Don't be a martyr. Letting injuries get infected only hurts _you._ "

Zapata snorted. Kurt rolled his eyes, "Okay, it will also irritate _me_."

Jane shook her head reluctantly and folded her arms protectively across her chest, creating a barrier between them. Kurt knelt in front of her, unfolded them and took her hands in his. Holding onto them he examined her palms and arms appraisingly.

"Just let me take care of you, Jane."

 _Please, I need to do it as much as you need it done._

 _That's normal though… right. I'm treating her like I would any other teammate. Well… Jane is special; she's under intense emotional duress. Am I getting too invested here? Am I crossing a line?_

He focused on the task, anything to not linger on the thought that the openness of her expression was making the moment familiar and meaningful. Kurt painstakingly cleaned out all her scrapes and bandaged where necessary. No serious damage.

As a last touch, gently put his thumb and forefinger on Jane's chin and tilted her face slowly to the side. Using a dampened clothe, Kurt softly wiped away the stray streaks of dust smeared on her cheek. Under his close attention, a blush heated Jane's cheeks and Kurt smiled boyishly at the innocent reaction.

 _I think, we're going to be okay…_

…

* * *

...

 _I can't believe they actually protected me from Keaton. Weller stood up for me, it would have been so easy to just agree… but he fought for me— for ME._

 _They know everything— they know all my secrets and they still went out of their way to keep me safe and find me before I could leave. I was so sure that I had been betrayed again… that I had been screwed over again. But…they — they hadn't lied. The truth is almost unfathomable. I'm not even sure where to go from here…_

 _Do I have a place on this team for real?_

Jane studied the top of Weller's head as he carefully swabbed her bloody knees with antiseptic. It was odd to be tended to so personally. The nurses were brisk and professional; their small talk generic and annoyingly cheerful. This was Kurt. It certainly wasn't his job to clean her scrapes; but it was… nice. He cared. That simple thought sent a warm glow blooming from her chest and right down to her toes.

Kurt was incredibly thorough, pushing up the sleeves of her jacket and rolling up the legs of her pants past her knees. He tenderly probed her head for contusions and tested her for concussions. He was methodical and he kept a slow, bland commentary on his progress so that she wouldn't be startled.

Patterson, Reade and Zapata stayed out of their way. They had opted to go through the footage again. The team studiously rewatched the footage of Keaton in the bullpen. When they garnered all the details that they could, they switched to try and follow Jane's path to escape.

"She disappeared into that conference room and never came out," Zapata tapped the table ponderously, "Air vents?"

"Probably," Reade agreed, "She is damn good at thinking on the fly. If we hadn't started looking for her right away, she would have escaped no problem." It was that close.

"Jane's like Wonder Woman; she can do anything. But it's not like it was a real escape," Patterson chuckled obliviously, "She's not a prisoner."

At her words, Jane shot her a questioning side look from across the table. _She wasn't? Really? It sure felt like it most of the time..._

Kurt saw the dubious look, "Of course you're not a prisoner, Jane."

Jane's face must of conveyed her doubt because he grimaced and scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, "I know you haven't had a chance to leave the building yet… but you were injured… and—"

"We should take you out!" Patterson blurted out and clapped her hands excitedly. Kurt shot her with an incredulous glare that melted her bright smile, "Well… maybe just a walk or something simple. Or not..."

Jane couldn't hide the longing on her face at the thought of fresh air. She had memorized the vista from her window and hungered to sense the outside world beyond what she could see. At Patterson's suggestion, it looked like that chance was within her grasp. She had often wondered if she would ever truly experience it again…

…

It was probably not the best idea after such a traumatic episode. Jane should rest and they needed to regroup after Keaton's impromptu drop-in. It was a stupid idea to indulge Patterson's silly suggestion. But it was clear that Jane wanted out and it was a reasonable desire, considering that it had been essentially months since she had breathed real air.

Reade watched as Kurt's resolve crumbled at the sight of Jane's open, yearning face. It was plain to everyone else on this team that Weller and Jane's palpable tension had strengthened recently... especially after her confession and this emotional speed bump. Reade wondered if Jane had any idea of the power she had over Weller…

 _It was only a matter of time… three… two… one…_

"Alright— just a short walk outside." Kurt caved, "We don't want you to think we are holding you hostage, Jane, it's just a question of security. We'll just pop out for a bit of fresh air… very quickly, just to reassure you…"

 _And target acquired… she hasn't got a clue._

 _…_

* * *

 _..._

Awww I am such a sucker for over-protective Kurt. I hope you all don't mind... but he is going to be showing up a little bit more. Let me know what you think.

* * *

I am a huge Christmas fan. Seriously… huge. But writing this, instead of counting down to Christmas I am just so excited that blindspot starts in 2.5 weeks. Anyone else counting down?


	13. Sights of the City

I'm happy you seem to like protective Weller… because he is here to stay.

* * *

Okay, I have heard rumours that there is some sort of promo for episode 2x10 that involves a hug between Kurt and Jane… has anyone else heard- or seen- this? Anyone have a link? I would love love love to know for sure...

* * *

...

Chapter 13

Sights of the City

...

Reade's POV

 _It's nice to see this team look so relaxed. It's been a while— a long while. Even with the Keaton episode, Jane has never looked so eager and happy. I'm not going to lie, I was worried she could never look this carefree again after the torture. It's such a contrast to the burdened, haunted look she normally wears._

 _And Weller, I haven't seen him smile like that since… Well, I guess Jane's the only one to get him to smile like that. It's clear, he has gotten emotionally invested again; I hope he knows what he is doing. This better not blow up in our faces. We can't take another loss so soon after Mayfair. I need this to work._

As heartwarming as it was to see Jane excited about a small excursion, Reade was concerned.

When Weller escorted Jane to her room to get a warmer jacket, he pulled Zapata aside in the locker room. "I think this is too soon, Tash. Jane just had a huge scare with Keaton… we have no idea what is going on in her head. What if she gets freaked and bolts?"

"I'm worried too, Reade," Zapata patted his arm and shrugged, "But Jane isn't our prisoner— she's our teammate, and friend. Especially after the confession and Keaton, it's important that we show her that we trust her and that she can trust us. We have to mend this rift before any more doubts set in."

"She could get lost… or Keaton could have men on the lookout for her…"

"Then we will have to be extra careful. And Jane is smart, she knows the city— she knows how to find us. Plus, she sure gave you hell today" She poked his bruised cheek and grabbed a scarf out of her locker, "It will be fine, you worrywart."

"Are we really doing this?"

Zapata smiled, "Yes, we are really doing this. Jane needs this— we all need this. Think of it as a team-building exercise."

It was a crisp late fall afternoon, the leaves were a glorious blend of reds, greens and golds. Instead of a quick jaunt around the block, they had opted to take Jane to a nearby park. It was a beautiful day and… well… Weller had been out-voted.

The team crunched along the mildly busy path chatting mindlessly. It was strange to do something as mundane as taking a stroll in the park when their normal duties were so active and perilous. But life was all about the small moments. It was nice to do something so innocent as a team; they hadn't all been together and enjoying themselves in such a long time.

…

* * *

...

 _Fresh air. The world without a glass filter. I can't believe they took me on a field trip to the park. So small and silly… and perfect._

Jane was in heaven. She breathed the cool air deep into her lungs taking in woodsy smells of the park and the peripheral scents of the city. The colours were so vivid, like she was seeing the world with new eyes.

She plucked leaves from the grassy floor and crumbled them between her fingers. The cold air stung her face but she welcomed the bitter bite and tilted her face back to enjoy the sensation.

She hadn't felt this kind of happiness, the innocent joy of just relishing in nature's beauty, for months. It felt like years— like she had been freed from a life sentence and was experiencing everything with a heightened appreciation. More than that, she felt... hope.

…

For Kurt, it was like watching a child at Christmastime. Jane's face was full of irrepressible wonder; her eyes almost as wide as her smile. Her gaze darted around as if she had never seen a park before. They should have done this earlier, maybe it would have helped.

Tasha and Patterson had bundled her up in winter gear. On top of her leather jacket, she was wrapped in a wooly scarf, hat and mittens. Pink wasn't her usual colour, but he couldn't help but appreciate how it brought out the rosy blush in her cheeks.

Tasha, Reade and Patterson were walking behind them, keeping up a steady stream of conversation even as they kept their eyes peeled for suspicious behaviour. As much as this was an innocent diversion, none of them were very good at turning off the instinctive need to be observant. Plus, all of them felt the compulsion to be on the watch for Keaton's CIA henchmen.

Kurt tried to stay vigilant; nothing was more important right now than keeping Jane safe. Keaton clearly still had plans involving her, therefore, her security was an issue they still needed to iron out. It was so unlike him to be unable to focus on his job; he should be on alert… and yet… every time he went to scan the people passing by for threats… his eyes were inevitably drawn to Jane.

Her joy was magnetic.

As if sensing his stare, Jane smile became more guarded and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

He grinned at her reassuringly, "Having fun?"

She turned and nodded vigorously. Slipping a small pad of paper out of her back pocket Jane wrote… "Thanks. I needed this."

Kurt could have talked to her about Keaton. He could have expressed his worries over her attempt to flee the NYO or discuss security options. He could have flagged Reade and Zapata back from their sentry positions around the path. He could have had a dozen work-related conversations. But he was selfish, he preferred to see her smiling and content rather than watch the happiness melt off her face at the reminder of their traumatic afternoon.

Kurt caught sight of an ice-cream vendor up ahead and bumped his shoulder against Jane's with a grin, "Want one?"

He could see the gleam in her eye but instead she shrugged indifferently and stared at her shoes. It hurt that she was afraid to want something as small as an ice cream cone. They— he— would have to work on it.

"Come on, my treat."

Kurt couldn't remember if Jane had tried ice cream last year. When he asked her to pick a flavour her eyes widened helplessly at the various options. With that response, he guessed he could safely assume that she didn't know her favourite flavour.

"Let's start with the basics. Vanilla for you and chocolate for me." He paid the man and handed her the cone of creamy goodness.

He watched with helpless fascination as she tentatively licked the white dessert; she paused to savour the new flavour. He chuckled as she dove in for a larger taste and turned to his own chocolate cone.

"Good?"

She nodded and tilted her head towards him as if to return the question.

"I already know mine is good. Chocolate's my favourite." he held his cone out towards her, "The only way to find your favourite flavour is to try them all… want to taste mine?"

Jane seemed unsure, but Kurt was kindly insistent. Sharing would build trust… At least that was the reason he told himself. He watched her face avidly as she tried the chocolate flavour and was rewarded with an awed gleeful expression on Jane's face.

"Do you like it?" he teased. "Now, comes the difficult question; chocolate or vanilla?"

Jane dramatically twisted her face as if in deep thought as she studied both cones carefully. With a heavy sigh of triumph she raised the chocolate ice cream cone slightly in victory and smiled impishly beneath her lashes.

When Jane went to hand him his ice cream back, Kurt made a split-second decision and reached over to grab the vanilla instead, "You keep that one, Jane. If it's your favourite, I'd much rather you have the chocolate."

 _Especially if it means you keep smiling like that._

It was such a small moment. Such an innocent comment. Such a brief thought. But it was right then, that Kurt realized his feelings had crossed a line. So many times that day he had refused to let himself dwell on his feelings towards Jane. He knew they had shifted; he knew they were strong. But in the heat of the moment, he had pushed the weighty topic aside to deal with more important matters- like making sure Jane was okay.

But this moment had snuck up on him while his guard was down. Their flirtatious exchange and Jane's responding shy smile had created a swell of emotion— a forceful sensation of lightheaded joy- Of... Of what? _It couldn't be…_

All these weeks of spending every day with her, Kurt had convinced himself it was strictly a responsibility. He owed so much to Jane for his neglect- for his failure to protect her. The more time Kurt spent with Jane… the more he talked himself into believing it was to build rapport or that he was simply showing the concern of a team mate… At the most he let himself acknowledge that they were friends.

But he was fooling himself if he ever thought he could keep things with Jane strictly professional. He hadn't been able to do that since day one.

 _What are you thinking? You are not ready for this! She is not ready for this! You don't even know what "THIS" is!_

 _She is still recovering from torture and you are trying to investigate a terrorist threat on US soil. This is a time to be focusing on the job at hand and not letting yourself get distracted. This isn't happening, because it is impossible to fall back into these feelings so easily… it's only been a few weeks…_

 _..._

Kurt Scrambled to tamp down his feelings until he was more equipped to navigate what was going on in his mind. Attempting to return to a modicum of the norm, Kurt desperately tried to bring the conversation back to something more professional.

"I should have told you earlier— I wish I had… but I never thought that Keaton would show up and send everything into a tailspin. I talked to Director Pellington and he has agreed to offer you a deal; you are back on the team and an official FBI asset. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it's hopefully enough to keep the CIA at bay. I am hoping to use the information you gave us to try and find your true identity— with an identity, we will be able to give you documentation. Protection."

Jane stared at him incredulously, she cocked her head to the side. Juggling her ice cream she slowly penned… "Thank you. Thank you, for making that effort for me."

"Of course, Jane, I only wish it was more concrete."

Jane tried to stay indifferent but Kurt recognized the avoidance when she very slowly wrote… "We both know, there is nothing stable or concrete about my life."

 _Oh Jane, I'm sorry. I know she doesn't mean me specifically… but it still feels like my fault that she feels so vulnerable. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her like a human shield until she feels safe- until I know that she is safe. A friend can do that...right?_

Jane kept writing… "Will everything be like before?"

 _We are co-workers; this is a work question. Concentrate_. "Yes and No. Going ahead, we will have to discuss how we want to handle the investigation into this… terrorist group. Also, whether or not we want to continue to handle tattoo cases."

After a moment, Jane curiously responded on her notepad… "Fair enough. Will I be moving back into a safe house soon?"

Just the thought of Jane living vulnerable and exposed, especially after the day they just had, sent Kurt's protective instincts into overdrive. He blurted, "Absolutely NOT!"

Jane was taken aback by his growled response. She took a half-step to the side in confused surprise, her expression wary. Kurt's emphatic reaction drew Zapata, Patterson and Reade's attention; they cautiously walked over to check in.

Kurt was shocked at himself but he couldn't stop the determination coursing through his veins. The term "safe house" was a joke, she had never been safe there. She had too many unknown elements interested in her.

The need to keep her close, glued to his side, safe— and protected by an army of agents was overwhelming and terrifying to a man usually in control of his emotions. W _hat is happening to me?_

"What's the matter?" Zapata asked.

Kurt forced an appropriate tone, "Jane was wondering about returning to a safe house," Patterson and Reade blanched and he continued with a pointed stare at Jane, "I said 'no.' Keaton is still a threat and we have no idea what the capabilities of this unknown organization are. It is much safer for Jane at the NYO."

Jane clenched her jaw in annoyance. She wrote… "Is it really necessary for me to stay at an FBI office building; it's not normal for people to live there."

Her argument irritated Kurt. "It's a perfect solution; there are plenty of reasons…" he started ticking off reasons on his fingers. It took both hands. "At the NYO, I can keep an eye on you. I'll know where you are. Zapata can keep an eye on you. I can be there when you need me. Reade can keep an eye on you. I will know you are safe. Patterson can keep an eye on you. You won't get dragged off without anyone knowing about it. And, especially, I can keep an eye on you!"

In the background, Zapata stifled a smirk with both hands— this was an interesting development. In the foreground, Jane grew more exasperated at each of Kurt's reasons. She had finished her ice cream and already her hand was flying across the notepad in an angry rejoinder.

As much as Zapata wanted to see the stand-off… after such an emotional day, a fight would be a bad idea. With a comic look at Weller, she tugged Jane off to walk with her down a different path, "Come on, Jane, let's let Weller cool off."

…

* * *

...

 _That MAN! He was just being ridiculous. Today was a perfect example; Keaton knew where I was and he walked into the office without any problems. He was within meters of me and I had NO warning! The NYO may be full of agents but it also makes me vulnerable in its predictability._

 _I am tired of living in an FBI office building. It makes me feel like a science experiment or a freak. I makes me feel like I just came out of that bag and they want to study me like a bug under a microscope. I want privacy and independence. I'm getting better… I'll be going to physical therapy soon to get back into top shape; I will be able to take care of myself._

If they trust me, why won't they let me out of their sight.

 _Okay… Maybe Kurt did have a couple good points on my bad experience with safe houses. Oscar and his people always seemed to be able to fine me, and the CIA would probably find it simple to track down my placement._ _Maybe moving out is not the best idea… yet. Okay. FINE! His logic was on point but his autocratic attitude was all but intolerable._

 _I can't necessarily disagree with him, but would it be so unreasonable to let me have a say in what happened in my life. Does he have to be so domineering?_

Jane silently fumed for a good five minutes before Tasha broke the silence with a low belly laugh. "I had almost forgotten what the two of you together looked like. No one cracks Weller's professional mask better than you; he just can't help himself. Did you see his face?"

 _What is she talking about?_

Zapata continued. "He cares about you, Jane… a lot. Seeing you broken, was like torture for him… and then today… You scared the shit out of him. He's Weller, he walks into terrifying situations all the time; he's not used to fear. I'm not sure he even knows how to deal with it. I think, that if you don't let him fuss over you, he might implode."

Tasha's matter-of-fact portrayal of Weller's feelings stunned her. Jane turned back to look at Patterson, Reade and Weller who were standing several meters away scanning the park patrons. Just as she glanced over, Kurt look up and caught her gaze. His blue eyes always managed to pierce through everything.

 _I scared him? But… But…What does that mean? Is that a good thing or a bad thing. Am I burdening him… should I step back?_

Jane bit her lip and severed their staring contest. She had no idea what to do with that information. Instead, Jane tried to distract herself and avoid Tasha's curious stare. She let her eyes wander aimlessly across the autumn scenery. Jane's attention snagged on a lone man leaning against a tree. There was nothing special about him, nothing aggressive or obvious about his posture. But there was something about him…

His hair was brown, the sun catching blonde highlights in his hair and beard. And then he turned; streaking down the right cheek of his lean face was a distinctive scar bisected by his eye. That scar… on that face; she knew it somehow. Jane searched her mind uselessly, it was so frustrating!

That face— it was familiar, it had filtered through her subconscious in the black site. A face and a voice that kept her safe, trained her to stay sane. It was the only thing that kept her alive.

That scar— flashed in and out of her mind, the same scar on a child's face, then a young man and finally the face in front of her.

Jane knew that man… but when she looked for him again, he had disappeared. The spot next to the tree was empty.

"Are you okay Jane?" Zapata's voice cut through the white noise.

With one last glance to the now vacant space, Jane nodded absentmindedly and followed the other woman back down the path.

 _Did I just imagine him? It felt so real. Was he looking for me… watching me? Was he with them? This has been such a crazy day, maybe I am just being paranoid or hallucinating…_

…

* * *

...

They had enjoyed a long enough break. Too much time exposed was making Kurt and Reade nervous and Jane's energy was drooping after her long morning. Still, they were a good-natured group as they trooped back into the office. Already, they were making plans for another day and hoping for the good weather to last.

The next morning, the team had just settled back in the bullpen and were going over strategies when the elevators opened. An entourage of unknown agents surrounded a small-statured woman and together they crossed the foyer. The procession seemed full of ominous purpose; it was impossible not to have a sense of foreboding as they moved into the NYO.

"My name is Nas Kamal, I'm with the NSA, and I'm here to speak with Assistant Director Weller."

…

* * *

...

Did you like it. Our first look at ROMAN! I am so excited to start bringing him into the storyline.

And of course, we now have to contend with Nas' entrance. But I promise (PROMISE!) that she will be an irregular presence and not threaten Kurt and Jane's relationship. In fact, she is going to push them closer together.

* * *

Okay. I have a lot of family coming over for Christmas… I am not sure if I can get another chapter out before then. I am sure you all have some fabulous holiday festivities planned yourselves and reading fan fiction sometimes falls to the back burner (tis the season).

But let me know, if you guys would have the time or desire for an update before Christmas and I will try to work a holiday miracle.


	14. Another Unwelcome Guest

I am SO sorry guys. I had every intention of writing and posting this chapter on Christmas Eve, however, the weather was not on my side. I ended up snowed in at a relative's house. I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this chapter even if it is a little late.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas!

* * *

...

Chapter 14

Another Unwelcome Guest

...

Nas Kamal was as unwelcome as she was a wealth of information. Kurt had learned to trust his instincts and his instincts told him that Nas was driven, intelligent and tough. But they also told him that she was opportunistic and secretive. He had a hard time believing that she would let emotions get in the way of the job.

Nas strode up to him, her authoritative stance making her seem bigger than her small stature would first present, "Assistant Director Weller, I need to speak to you immediately, do you mind if we talk in your office."

Too bad Kurt wasn't a pushover, "Anything you have to say, can be said in front of my team."

Nas paused, her facing tensing in obvious irritation, "What I have to say is highly sensitive." Kurt watched as her gaze shifted to Jane's presence behind him, "I understand that Jane Doe is in your custody now."

If she thought that comment would earn her a private meeting, she had the wrong thing coming. If anything, Nas' comment assured the opposite. Kurt gestured the woman towards their usual conference room, "I understand, we'll take this to a more private venue."

Nas sailed by, confident that she had gotten her way. Kurt turned around to address the team with an raised eyebrowsl. He went around the group and met everyone's eyes and then directed them into the very same conference room. "She doesn't have a say in how we run our team. Together, we are going to go in there and listen to what she has to say."

His gaze travelled over Jane's face and he cringed at the hyper-alert strain visible in her body. As the rest of the team trickled into the room, Kurt reached out and grabbed her hand gently in his own and gave it a tight reassuring squeeze before following behind her.

They sat down solemnly with carefully crafted indifferent expressions on their faces. Nas stood at the head of the table, waiting until they sat down to get started.

"I work for an off book wing of the NSA called Zero Division. Over the past couple years, I have linked several random terror events, with a single terrorist group as the cause." Nas had plugged her computer into their system and used it to bring up a series of images, media files and stats to emphasize her point. She fielded questions on the events and provided the logic behind her claims. It was a thorough and meticulous analysis that evidenced Nas' passion for the project as much as highlighting the ruthless skill of the organization.

"I call them Sandstorm."

The NSA agent very easily kept the conversation centralized on Sandstorm, but Zapata wanted to know about the subject Nas had yet to broach. "Why is the NSA so interested in Jane," Tasha finally cut in impertinently.

Nas stared at Jane down the table, "I believe that Jane was a key member of Sandstorm sent to you as a Trojan horse."

Silence. Kurt's mind rapidly processed the information…

 _We already knew that Jane was sent to us as a mole; she admitted it herself. But if this is true, we can finally learn about the who and why that was behind it. Did Jane really belong to this… Sandstorm?_

 _This is exactly the break we were looking for; an identity on Jane's former organization and stacks of data. But I know this information has a cost. Judging by the way Nas had zeroed in on Jane— she clearly expected that her announcement could cause a rift. She wants Jane for something and I have a feeling I won't like it._

The team's faces remained unfazed; to them this was not new information. Well… the name was new… Nas seemed somewhat taken aback as if she was expecting a stronger reaction… yells of shock, denial, anger or some kind of backlash against Jane.

When she did not receive any strong response, Nas persevered, "It seems you already aware of that. Good, I suppose that saves me some time. Judging by your reactions, I can assume that your team has moved past that betrayal and is back on track. That is excellent. We have been following your developments since Times Square, while they are impressive, I believe Sandstorm is planning its biggest attack yet on US soil and we need to be more aggressive."

Kurt needed to slow this down, "You have been following our team since last year? And only now have you come forward…"

"Yes, I suppose I should have started with my condolences on Assistant Director Mayfair… but time is of the essence," Nas stated with hollow sympathy.

Reade hissed in a deep breathe while Zapata slammed her fists on the table baring her teeth at the woman's effrontery.

"Your condolences are duly noted," Kurt responded drily. "Perhaps it would be better if you got to the point. I am assuming you require our assistance for something related to Sandstorm?"

"Yours… not exactly. I would like to utilize Jane to infiltrate Sandstorm and take them down."

That was when chaos broke out.

…

* * *

...

Kurt had managed to control the team's riotous response while Nas stood at the head of the table taking the anger in stride. Inch by inch, Jane started rolling her chair back until she was pressed into the corner of the room. She liked having the security of the wall at her back.

Jane could see Kurt watching her out of the corner of his eye; he hid it well but she could see concern wrinkling the corners of his eyes. She knew he had every reason to be concerned. The other day she had been a flight risk and now, this stranger comes in and claims she was part of " _Sandstorm_." He was probably waiting for her to crack under the pressure.

But after over a year, Jane was used to finding out terrifying and horrifying things about her past. In her memories, she had seen a woman wearing her face shoot, maim and kill. And from Oscar, she learned even more unpleasant details of the woman she was. It should come as no surprise that she belonged to a heinous organization plotting against the whole of the United States… Murphy's Law was the law that governed her life.

Jane had just started to come to terms with returning to her old life— looking forward to celebrating the acceptance of her old team. Now, it looked like that fairytale ending was coming to an end. She should have expected that… she never got to enjoy the good things for long.

 _Am I ready to confront this part of my past? Do I even have a choice?_

It seemed that the decision was already made for her. As she looked on, Kurt stood to respond to Nas; he didn't yell, but he was firm. "Thank you for your information and we would be happy for any insight you can give us into Sandstorm. However, you absolute _will not_ put my asset in a life-threatening situation. You want to send her into a dangerous terrorist organization with no real information, no backup— essentially blind? It is non-negotiable. No."

Jane appreciated his protection— she did. But she would appreciate it more if he would discuss it with her first and allow her an opinion. It was her life. It was her past. It was _her_ decision.

Nas was not prepared to accept 'no' for an answer, "I don't think you understand the seriousness of this, Assistant Director Weller. This group is dangerous and I can feel the clock running down on this. It is our duty to protect this country. If nothing else, don't you want vengeance for Mayfair."

Reade had, had enough of this pushy bureaucrat. It was manipulative to use Mayfair as a trigger, "Look, lady, you have no right to come in here and tell us—"

"Reade!" Kurt silenced him with a look and gestured for him to stand down, "Agent Kamal, I appreciate that you want to get this group— we do too. Don't question our priorities or our patriotism. But by your own admittance, you hung back for a year watching us without sharing any of your intel. _You_ are part of the reason my boss is dead."

"You don't understand," Nas pleaded passionately, "It is remarkable that you successfully turned Jane into an asset. This is the best lead we have had in years. The _only_ chance…"

"We didn't _do_ anything. You're talking about Jane like she isn't even a person. She is. She is in this room in fact." Zapata sniped in the background.

"Exactly." Nas directed her gaze at Jane, "Jane, you want to stop Sandstorm, don't you? Remember how they killed Mayfair and how they lied to you. Think of the damage they have done to your own life."

 _I do want to stop them; but I don't trust you to help me do it._

There was a long pause while Nas waited for Jane to respond. The team held no such expectations. Patterson, who had remained silent up until now, took pity on the woman, "Agent Kamal… Jane doesn't speak; she hasn't since we found her again."

Nas looked helplessly between Weller and Jane. That certainly made things more difficult.

 _I can't believe they are protecting me from yet another agency… I suppose that was a miracle on its own. I had promised Weller that I wouldn't try to escape. I meant it at the time but I wonder if I am going to be able to keep that promise. I may have to leave for my protection and theirs— the NSA is just as dangerous as the CIA._

 _Life has turned so unpredictable I'm not willing to bet on anyone or anything at this point, least of all myself. All I know for certain is that I still face a dangerous and uncertain future... all because of my past._

…

* * *

...

Nas' posture was still ramrod straight and undefeated- if not disappointed, "I can see that using Jane isn't currently an option. But since I can assume that her mutism is a temporary situation, I would like a moment alone with Jane to discuss the possibility in her future."

Jane was tired of depending on others to speak for her. She stood from her chair and gave the woman a curt nod. The team gave her varying glances of concern as they exited out the door. Patterson touched her arm and gave her a questioning look, only finally leaving when Jane reassured her with a half-smile.

Kurt lingered the longest, "I can stay, Jane. I won't say anything."

Jane shook her head in refusal and he reluctantly left with a final warning look to Nas.

"Well, you've certainly garnered quite a protective following, Jane. I applaud your achievement— it must have taken some effort for them to trust you again after all you've done." Nas certainly didn't pull any punches now that she didn't have to impress Weller.

Jane had her notebook, but didn't consider the comment worthy of a response.

"Clearly, the CIA did quite a number on you if you are still recovering. Keaton always was a little too overzealous." Nas smirked at Jane's suppressed surprise. "Oh yes, I know about your time with the CIA. You do understand that they are still very interested in recovering you. If they do… and if you survive it… they'll keep you somewhere that no one will ever find you."

Only slightly unnerved by Jane's unemotional response, Nas pushed on, letting a hint of threat layer her voice, "Give me a reason to help protect you. Help us bring down the people who put you here. Earn your freedom."

"Blackmail is the lowest form of negotiation," Jane serenely wrote. "I don't need your help."

"No, I suppose you have the FBI's protection… for now. We both know their feelings about you have been fickle in the past. Believe me, with the CIA after you, it never hurts to have another friend in your corner."

Nas had zoomed in on Jane's most immediate fears. Damn she was good. Jane kept her face impassive— a poker face was vital with a woman like Nas; she would take advantage of any weakness.

"You are a liability to me if you can't speak. But I encourage you to snap out of it soon… for your own good. Think about it, Jane, think about the difference you could make— think of the lives you could save. Think of securing your own future."

 _I don't appreciate the manipulation or being used but I will I'll admit, Nas is passionate about this mission. It is a relief that someone is aware of this organization and actively trying to stop it. I am glad to finally have a better understanding of my origins and I am grateful for the intel she can provide._

 _All my instincts tell me that I can't outrun my past— it will continue to haunt me until I deal with it. I can't keep avoiding it, I must make a decision— soon._

 _I want to stop them. I hate them for what they did and at the same time I am so desperate to talk to them. So desperate to understand why they are doing this… and more importantly, why I did this. I want to ask about my past and my identity.I need to find out what drove me to join that group in the first place._

 _I am so terrified about what I may discover if I go forward with this. Everything is so twisted and convoluted in my mind; a strange dichotomy of who I was and who I am now. So far it has been easy to keep them separate; but if I go after Sandstorm, I know that will become more difficult._

 _It feels like it's my responsibility. I am the most qualified — I do have a connection to Sandstorm. Maybe I should do this… I should, but not yet. I need to prepare myself to battle this dragon. Once I am stronger, I WILL take them on._

 _And at that point I will know whether I am taking them on alone, me against the world, or if I will have a team at my back. Time will tell._

 _…_

* * *

 _..._

The team convened outside of the conference room, wanting to stay close but not wanting to hover. It was difficult to leave Jane in the jaws of a forceful NSA operative, a woman entirely too capable of shattering the fragile peace they had established.

"What do you think Nas wanted to talk to Jane about?" Patterson asked nervously.

Reade flopped his head incredulously in Patterson's direction, "I think it's obvious… She's gonna try to guilt Jane into helping her. She is going to try and snake her into being her sacrificial pawn."

"Jane wouldn't fall for that right?" Patterson was even more worried now.

"Of course not." Zapata eased with a hint of bravado. "As much as we treat Jane like a fragile flower, we can't forget that she was and _is_ a badass. She could wipe the floor with any of us and after months of torture she still almost managed to escape from this FBI building."

Kurt nodded, "Jane will be fine. Nas Kamal won't be interested in using her until, at the very least, she is talking again. When the time comes, I have no doubt she will be back. But she does not have the upper hand here, she doesn't have any leverage over us or Jane and we won't let her bully anyone into a plan we don't agree with."

"Absolutely," Reade agreed, "And it's important that Jane knows that too."

Patterson muttered regretfully, "I never thought I would wish for Jane to stay silent a little longer."

…

When the conference door swung open, they were immediately alert. Scanning Nas' face as she exited it was apparent that she was leaving dissatisfied. Weller met her in the hall out of politeness.

Even if she was leaving without her ultimate goal, Nas still wanted to press her point. "You do realize that Jane was designed— engineered even— to get close to you. Knowing that, can you truly trust her on your team?"

Kurt couldn't abide her attempts to create a rift in his team. He didn't want her leaving under any misapprehension for next time. "Let me make this perfectly clear… I have no doubts about Jane."

In the interests of pursuing the case, Kurt requested and was granted access to some of the NSA's files on Sandstorm. He suspected, Agent Kamal wanted to whet their appetite on Sandstorm in the hopes that they would become more willing to cooperate. She had no idea that this team was already more motivated to stop Sandstorm than anyone she had ever encountered— their interest was vested and personal.

He realized that the NSA probably would withhold the majority of the research, but the FBI had their own resources and those files would be a promising start to their own investigation.

Jane hadn't exited the conference room yet. Patterson, Zapata and Reade had popped into the office immediately and Kurt joined them once Nas exited the building. When he went in, he gathered that they were attempting to lighten the mood.

"All I'm saying is that Sandstorm is a stupid name," Reade laughed.

"Well what would you call them, hot shot," Zapata rolled her eyes, "What is your _big name_ idea."

"OH! The 'Death Star.'" Patterson piped up gleefully.

"You're giving them waaaay too much credit… I'm thinking the Squad of Anarchy," Reade snorted. Kurt had never heard Reade snort.

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I got this… League of Shadows." silence and then they burst out laughing - even Jane's eyes had lightened with mirth.

Kurt leaned against the door, "You guys missed your calling. Maybe you should try a sideline in advertising."

Reade blew on his knuckles and rubbed them against his collar in faux arrogance, "Welll, what can I say. When you got it. You got it."

"We'll discuss Sandstorm right away if you guys want to have a quick break to get our heads on straight." They didn't really need time. Kurt knew the team would understand he was asking for some space to talk to Jane.

He waited until they filtered out before he took a seat next to Jane. She was more likely to downplay events so he decided to come right out and say what he thought had happened. "I'm going to guess that Agent Kamal tried to blackmail you into helping her."

Jane's eyes widened at his blunt and accurate assessment. She gave a bare nod.

He covered her hand with his own, "Did you believe her?"

Jane gave him a measuring look before biting her lip and giving him a small smile. She shook her head from side to side and watched him slump slightly in relief.

"I know she probably tried to scare you with empty threats. But I talked to Pellington and he has agreed you are well worth protecting. You are vital to our team and this case, he will fight for you." He squeezed her hand in emphasis, "No one will touch you…"

Jane chewed on her lower lip, confused as her eyes darted down to his fingers resting warmly on her hand.

He following her gaze. With a helpless shrug he gave a toothy grin, "I'm the exception."

As much as Jane wanted to linger in the moment, she couldn't leave it there. In stops and starts she methodically penned her thoughts. "I don't trust Nas, but I do want to go after Sandstorm. I can't ignore my past and I have to make them pay for what they did. I would like to be cleared for physical therapy. I need to get back in fighting form."

"We _will_ get Sandstorm, Jane. We will work as a team— don't feel like you are in this alone. We all want to take them down. You will be cleared for physical therapy when the medical team agrees."

Jane's eyes narrowed and she scrawled, "No. Now. My body. My decision. I'm ready. There is no time to waste."

Kurt leaned in gamely, "There is no reason for you to be pushing yourself before you are ready. We will discuss it with the doctor. No promises."

He was being too conservative. "We'll see." Jane pressed the words determinedly into his chest and left the room with a feisty smirk.

...

* * *

Hopefully this proves my promise that Kurt and Nas will definitely not be together (Eww). There is even a hint of her pushing them closer together.

* * *

I hope you liked it. Let me know your thoughts on the Nas situation.

Next chapter you can look forward to a little bit of comedy and fluff with another Roman sighting.


	15. Feelings Set Aside

Happy New Year everyone!

Only a few more days until Blindspot returns!

* * *

...

Chapter 15

Feelings Set Aside

...

"I can't get over how determined Jane is with her physical therapy. I'm worried she is pushing herself too hard, too fast." Patterson and Zapata were strolling back from spending lunch with Jane. It had been a couple weeks since the Keaton incident and Jane had been spending hours every day to improve her physical fitness.

"Well," Zapata defended, "I can't really blame her, she doesn't really have a lot of distractions in her life. I would be going stir crazy if I were her."

 _Yes, Jane didn't have a lot to occupy her day but that didn't mean that she needed to be stretching, lifting weights and exercising for the majority of her day. There were moments when you could see her shoving the pain aside to go faster or go harder. What was she pushing for? Couldn't she hurt herself?_

Patterson acknowledged that Zapata had a point but persisted, "I still think she is pushing herself too hard. I'm worried that she has set some unreasonable goals for herself; I don't want her to think we are expecting her to be fixed right off the bat."

"I don't think it's about us… Jane wants to be as strong as she was. After everything she has been through, she is probably afraid of feeling powerless again. This is something that is within her control."

Both women nodded soberly at the dark turn of the conversation.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Zapata piped, "We could always hope that Jane just wants to spend more time with the physical therapist." She sighed dreamily, "Claude… He is certainly something…"

"Tasha!" Patterson giggled, "Don't start rumours where there is no evidence."

"Hey, a girl can dream. That man is built like a truck— Besides, if anyone deserves to let off some steam, it's Jane."

Kurt was walking by with a sheaf of papers, headed towards his office when his ears perked at Jane's name. "What was that about Jane?"

Patterson flushed at being caught gossiping, "Nothing," she stammered.

Tasha had no such qualms. She had been watching Kurt watch Jane for two weeks now and she was all too eager to stir up some mischief. "We were just saying how nice Claude, Jane's physical therapist, is. I think he and Jane might make a cute couple."

If she hadn't known Weller for years, Tasha might have missed the slight shift of his posture and the small twitch in his cheek. This was _too_ easy.

Patterson could feel the frosty disapproval radiating off of her boss, "Tasha was wondering that, _I_ wasn't. Not at all. Really…"

Kurt adjusted his white-knuckle grip on the stack of files but he managed to keep his tone moderated, "Does "Claude"," he ground out his name, "seem interested in Jane?"

Tasha keenly rattled off, "Why wouldn't he be? Jane's gorgeous… creative… smart… sensitive…" with each quality, Tasha ticked off a finger and watched Kurt become more agitated. "She's a catch! Any man would be lucky to take her out, wouldn't you agree."

Kurt growled, "Of course. But Jane isn't— is she really ready for a big step like that…?"

"Isn't that up to Jane," Tasha responded with a smirk and quirked eyebrow.

Zapata knew she was pushing his buttons — but if Weller didn't snatch up what was right in front of his face, he was going to miss out.

Weller snapped his teeth together tensely and all of a sudden became incredibly absorbed in the files in front of him. He murmured an excuse and made to get back to work. After he got two feet away he paused, stiffened his shoulders… then continued. Four feet away, he came to a sudden stop, spun on his heel and strode back with purpose.

"Patterson, I need you to do a thorough background check on 'Claude.' We need to be more cautious regarding anyone in close contact with Jane— anyone could be a mole trying to infiltrate our inner circle."

Patterson cocked her head in confusion, "But, Weller, Claude has been working with bureau agents for over eight years…"

"I don't care. No one is above question and I find his proximity suspicious."

 _2 days later_

Jane was walking with Kurt after coming back from an intense session. Writing swiftly she asked, "Kate is a great trainer — but I don't understand why Claude had to leave so suddenly. Is he okay?"

Kurt shook his head innocently, "Family emergency, I think."

Jane shrugged and moved on… she was incredibly motivated to excel at therapy and get into peak condition. She didn't care who helped her as long as it got done… it was just odd.

Kurt trailed after Jane, letting her beat him to the staff kitchen. Patterson had found a large influx of cash into Claude's account that dated three years ago. It had been flagged, but Patterson was adamant that the fact that Claude had received a small inheritance from his deceased grandmother was hardly conclusive evidence of espionage.

Kurt chose to look at it differently and had an alternative physical therapist assigned to Jane. Kate came highly recommended and the fact that she was female and happily married was a complete coincidence. He was just looking out for the best interests of Jane and their investigation.

 _I'm lying to myself. I was happy to find a reason to remove Claude — I am acting irrationally jealous. I am supposed to be impartial. I am supposed to be clear-headed and have good judgement. I am her boss— sort of._

 _For two weeks I have tried to keep my behaviour strictly within the co-worker and friend zone. This is what Jane needs from me right now. She is recovering; she is fragile. She needs me to be reliable and supportive, not an emotional torpedo that will wreck what little stability she has managed to erect._

 _She has just decided to trust us, I can't risk that._

 _Even if I want to._

 _Even though every day makes me more grateful that she is alive and in my life. Even though her smile lights up the room. Even though I find myself unconsciously reaching out to touch her face or her hand. Even though every time she bites her lip, I want to press her against the wall and… Woah._

 _I'm not sure if I deserve this chance. I am part of the reason she is silent and putting herself through hell trying to rebuild her body. What if she doesn't feel the same way about me? We work together in dangerous circumstances— we need to be able to trust each other implicitly. What if I ruin it?_

 _I love her._

 _I still love her._

 _And because I love her, I will be the friend that she needs me to be… until she gives me a sign that she is ready for more…_

…

* * *

...

Along with physical therapy the team had made a more concentrated effort to take Jane out into the city. Simple things… walks, shopping trips, coffee shops, a museum or two, ice skating.

Jane enjoyed the freedom and relearning the only city that she ever considered home. She was never alone, always, she had the company of at least one or two team members… if not all of them. Even though they never left her alone, it felt like freedom and their hovering wasn't annoying (yet).

On many of the excursions, Jane caught sight of the scarred man. He was always watching her. She could feel his eyes analyzing the way she moved and the scars on her wrists. He seemed fascinated by the dynamics between her and the team. It felt like he noticed everything.

Every time Jane saw him, the fiercest emotions would rise in her heart. She felt protectiveness, relief, responsibility, and the overwhelming longing to reach out to him. Jane knew that she knew him and she sensed that he was important somehow— important _to her_.

There were times when she felt the words rising up in her throat, to call out to him. To tell him to stop or wait or just to say hello. But whenever Jane had an opportunity to confront him, she always found that he had disappeared. And the words slid back down her throat.

After she saw him for the third time, watching her through the window of the coffee shop, Jane knew she couldn't keep him a secret. Kurt and the team had graciously forgiven her for her betrayal and any more secrets on her part could damage the delicate trust she had earned. If she had any chance of rejoining her team, Jane had to be honest.

So… she told them. It was like Jane had set off a fire alarm, everyone went on high alert. Kurt went berserk and became absurdly concerned about her safety— he threw her back in the car and put her on lockdown at the NYO.

Jane understood that, naturally, the idea of anyone spying on the FBI was a potential danger. They were a team in the middle of a highly classified investigation. She just didn't understand why Kurt was being so overprotective— it was like he thought she was made of glass.

The only reason he even let her out of the building again was because they had found no trace of the scarred man at all (not even on any security footage or traffic cameras)… and because she never went out alone.

It was like the scarred man was a ghost. The next times Jane saw him, she told Zapata or Reade or Kurt… and every time they looked, he would be nowhere in sight. She was pretty sure the team thought he was a figment of her imagination or a hallucination brought on by stress. Borden had a field day with the whole affair.

At this point Jane wasn't sure she could disagree. Perhaps she invented him in the black site in order to cope with the pain… he certainly felt more like a guardian angel than anything. With that in mind, Jane continued to look for him on the peripheries of the crowded New York streets.

She might have continued to view him as an imaginary spectre if it weren't for the incident.

…

* * *

...

Patterson had decided that Jane should have a chance to experience the world and relive classic moments — in this instance, on their day off, Patterson corralled the team into visiting the zoo. It was a strangely innocent diversion.

Kurt had taken Sawyer there several times but Reade had actually never gone and Zapata had only visited on a childhood field trip. Isn't it strange how one never visits the tourist attractions in their own city.

In the office and during physical therapy it was easy to keep the mission in mind, easy to keep her mind on the job. Jane was able to push herself through the pain by using the goal of loosening the anchor of her past.

But in the outside world it was just as easy to get lost in the normalcy of the every day.

At the zoo, Jane was surrounded by families and smiling faces. The team laughed and made an effort to fully engage her in the experience from silly pictures to overpriced T-shirts. So…when "it" happened, it came out of nowhere. Looking back, Jane posited that it was an unconscious reaction to familiar stimuli.

They were at a Great Cat exhibit while the zoo was doing a carcass feeding. A portion of dead animal was lowered into the exhibit on a long chain for the fierce felines to feed on. Perhaps it was the eery rattle of the chain or the memory of dangling by her hands… vulnerable…

Regardless of the cause, it sent Jane into a panic attack.

Jane used to rely on her safe place to get through moments of extreme fear or trauma. But she had literally shut that door in her mind — and without that option, she had no coping mechanism in place.

Jane's throat tightened until it felt like she couldn't catch her breathe. The walls were closing in… compressing her within her own skin. The edges of her vision were crowded with dark spots and the tips of her fingers began to tingle. With her heart pounding like a drum in her ears all she could feel was a growing sense of urgency.

 _I can't breathe. What's happening to me!_

She wanted to move— to react— but it was like she was a prisoner within her own body… unable to budge… unable to breathe… unable to think… only able to feel terror.

Until…

Kurt's face swam in front of her.

In the chaos of her mind and body she could hear his voice coming as if from a distance, "You are okay, Jane. This will pass." His hands were warm on her shaky limbs. She could feel him towing her to a quiet bench off to the side, "You aren't trapped. You are safe. You are with friends. You will get through this."

His words came from all around. They were reassuring, but Jane's body was still overwrought with anxiety and her breathe came is shallow gasps. Through the pins and needles on her finger tips she felt her hands digging into Kurt's forearms.

He manoevered his body behind hers, calmly soothing her all the while. When his chest was firmly pressed against her back he backed them onto a bench. "Okay, Jane. We need to slow down your breathing. Everything is going to be fine. Breathe with me and count. Breathe in— one… two… three… four…— and breath out…"

His voice was a life raft. Slowly Jane felt her heart slow as her body recognized that she was able to breath. She felt shivery and her legs were shaking. It was embarrassing; she noticed that her freak show had attracted the attention and concern of several passersby. She tried not to look any of them in the eye as she fought to regain control of her body.

She tried not to… except one face stood out in the crowd. The scarred man — and he looked upset.

He was close— closer than he had ever gotten before. Jane could see the strain around his eyes, the feral curl of his lip and lowered fighting stance. It shocked her. He had never looked at her with anger before and yet here he was with proverbial daggers shooting out of his eyes. She tried to catch his gaze…

And that was when Jane realized… his loathing stare wasn't directed at her, it was directed at Kurt…

 _A memory flashed in her mind. She was sitting with the scarred man and they were laughing. They were within a larger group that included Marcos and Oscar but she was happy. The scarred man was ruffling her hair affectionately in what she somehow knew was an old habit._

Amidst everything. The memory sent a shock of electricity to her heart. He _was_ real. She knew him from before… He was with _Sandstorm_. For some reason it made her unreasonably sad.

The scarred man finally met her stare. He gave her a nod as if to check that was okay before he began to melt back into the crowds. Jane felt sluggish but she tried to alert someone to his presence.

With a sigh of victory, Jane was able to catch Patterson's worried eyes and direct her in the disappearing man's direction. Patterson gasped in shock when she caught sight of the face in Jane's sketches, but even she was too late to find help before he was gone. At least someone else saw him, though. Now they would have to admit that he was real.

...

Jane slumped back heavily in Kurt's arms. She felt oddly tired and lethargic while Kurt felt warm and safe. She had trusted him… again. Unconsciously his voice and presence had grounded her when she was swimming in panic. It was unsettling that anyone had that power over her.

 _I am getting attached to Weller again. All those feelings of love have been coming back to me in bits and pieces, like a puzzle putting itself together in my heart. This is a bad idea— dangerous — it makes me vulnerable. It was enough of a stretch for me to finally trust this team to know the truth… it is a whole different situation to trust Kurt with… with… with me._

 _I am probably getting far too ahead of myself. Kurt may have said that he has forgiven me and is willing to help me, but how could I even expect or imagine that he has any further feelings for me. He is a protector and I was a victim — he wants to make sure I'm okay but that is not a promise of love._

 _All those weeks ago, he said that he loved me once. But that was when he thought I was Taylor — I have no reason to believe that is still the case or if it was even real in the first place._

 _I am living in a dream world. What's to say that I will even live past this coming mission. If I do become a double agent and infiltrate Sandstorm, it is unlikely that I will survive. I should not encourage a future that may never come to pass. I should not create problems where there is no solution._

 _If Sandstorm knew how much I still cared about him, they could use him as a bargaining chip. He will be in danger, again. Any kind of relationship with a person like me would be poison to his career._

 _There are so many things wrong with this idea._

 _If I love him, I should leave him in peace. I will give him what I can… I will work harder and fight more fiercely; I will be what he needs me to be. I can be the teammate that he can rely on. He deserves to be happy… and any relationship with me would only paint a target on his back._

…

* * *

I love the angst of them both feeling the same thing but not able to connect…. YET!

Hope you enjoyed seeing Roman again and the bit of comic relief to temper the heavy emotions

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I hope you all are still enjoying the story — I know you all have busy lives but if you have a spare moment... let me know how you feel it's going.

I hate to ask but…

Mostly the feedback has been so encouraging and positive (honestly those ones are so wonderful to receive), but recently I received a few messages that were "less than kind." It sort of surprised me. I am open to constructive criticism, but I don't want to force this story on anyone. I started writing as a hobby and I try to make the stories interesting — but I understand if not everyone likes them.

I would like keep as many people happy as possible, so please let me know if you would prefer I start working on something else.

* * *

Anyways, Happy New Year and all the best :)


	16. Silence Broken

BLINDSPOT DAY!

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WOW. Such amazing and reassuring reviews. It actually brought tears to my eyes. I am more determined than ever to pour more time into this story.

You guys deserve a great chapter… below you will find a long awaited moment.

The title speaks for itself. Enjoy ;)

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Chapter 16

Silence Broken

...

It had been a week since the panic attack at the zoo and there were no new sightings of the scarred man. Patterson's eye witness account of him brought him back into significance. That, combined with Jane's suspicion that he was a member of Sandstorm, stirred the team into new action.

They made a point of going out more often with Jane in an attempt to lure him into the open. If he was a Sandstorm operative, and if they could tail, or even capture, him it would be an enormous advantage. But no luck.

Jane's feelings on the man were mixed and confused. She wanted to see him— needed to see him and learn what she could… but at the same time, each day that passed without a sighting made her breathe a sigh of relief.

Patterson and Zapata had the day off and Jane had wondered if they wouldn't mind running with her in the park. She was tired of only using the treadmill in the exercise room and was eager to push herself and take advantage of her new endurance. Patterson and Tasha agreed, as long as they went out for lunch afterwards.

The day was cool and drizzly but Jane eagerly finished a long run through the busy park. It was exhilarating and gratifying to see how much progress she had made. Sweaty and mussed from the exertion they dragged themselves to a small local bistro to order some lunch and sit in the corner.

It was a complete coincidence, when in the middle of Patterson's silly recounting of a funny anecdote, she stopped short and started waving frantically out the window. "Allie! Allie! HI!"

Jane's back was to the window but when Patterson chattered that Allie was coming into the bistro to say 'hi,' she was oddly excited. There were so few people in her life and, in their brief conversations, Allie was always nice and upfront with her. Jane had a genuine, friendly smile firmly planted on her face when Allie stopped by their table.

"Hi guys, what a coincidence! How are you doing? Jane, it's so good to see you, it's been so long. Kurt let me know a little bit about… what's going on. it's really great to see you out and looking so well." Allie's smile and comment was sincere as she eagerly joined the conversation even if she didn't take a seat.

Jane could hear the warm openness in Allie's voice and she tilted her head in full appreciation. But, her eyes were drawn immediately to Allie's protruding, pregnant belly; it was hard to miss.

She quickly looked at the table to avoid rude staring and fought to keep the questions off her face.

"We're doing great," Tasha groaned theatrically, "Even if Jane dragged us out to run in the rain."

"—But," Patterson gushed, "What we really want to know is how you and the baby are doing! Do you know the sex yet?"

"Great. Everything is going great. I'm almost done my second trimester!" Allie's face warmed with joy, "I'm actually on my way to a doctor's appointment now… so I can't stay. But I'm gonna give you a call later, because Kurt said you wanted to be involved in the baby shower and I'm actually thinking of making it a gender reveal party."

"Oh, that's right. Kurt mentioned that he was meeting you at your appointment today. I'm so sorry I dragged you in here," Patterson grimaced, "But yes! Call me when you are ready to start planning the baby shower."

Jane's ears perked at mention of Kurt at Allie's appointment… she was obviously missing an important detail here.

Zapata stood up, "We're actually pretty much done here, so we'll follow you out, Allie. Do you need a ride to the appointment?"

"Oh no, I'm fine. I have a ride and Kurt said he would drive me home afterwards. It was so nice to meet up with you guys. We should do it for real sometime soon." Allie nodded eagerly and made a point of meeting Jane's eyes to include her in the invitation.

The rest of them stood and followed Allie out of the cafe and waved her goodbye as she entered a friend's car. Tasha scrunched her nose, "I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little jealous that she is so happy and glowing right now. I feel sweaty and dirty."

Patterson grinned, "It's nice to see her so happy. She was so freaked out in the beginning, but she is going to be a great mom and Weller is going to be _such_ a good dad."

Jane stumbled slightly and froze. The two other women kept walking and talking animatedly so she forced herself to keep up. She has no idea how she did it— because her whole body felt numb. She was functioning on autopilot…

 _Kurt and Allie? Kurt is the father of Allie's baby… but… he never said anything._

 _Stupid! He's not obligated to share anything personal with you. Why would he tell you anything, you are a damaged freak of a teammate… not his best friend and clearly nothing more than that. It's his job to take care of you; remember that._

 _You must have imagined anything more than professional concern — he was just being nice to you because he is a nice person. He would — will— make a great dad. He has a family—a real family— and you are obviously not in it._

 _Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't anyone say anything?_

Round and round the thoughts swirled in her mind. Jane was glad no one expected her to take part in the conversation because everything was a blur. She had no sense of where she was or why.

 _You would have to be an idiot to assume that everyone's lives had stayed the same while you were gone. Four months is a long time. People move on, it's normal— natural. You've been self-absorbed, living in your own head._

 _But Allie said she was almost done her second trimester… You've been with the FBI for six weeks… Four months plus six weeks… that means that she got pregnant right after you were arrested. While you were being tortured, Kurt was making a baby… building a life… literally creating a future with Allie._

 _You are so stupid. You've been fantasizing about a man that was never within your reach. He moved on… he moved on months ago. You were his past and he was looking for someone or something that wouldn't disappoint him or betray him. That is not you._

 _Of course he would never want to be with you… even if you didn't have Sandstorm hanging over your head. You could never be what he needed. You are a daily reminder of so many terrible things for him… the loss of his best childhood friend… his father's betrayal and death… Mayfair's murder._

 _You're lucky he can tolerate to be in the same room with you._

 _Allie is perfect. She cares about him and they will be so happy together. Parents. Children. A real family._

 _God! Think of all those hours and nights he has spent making sure that you were okay — He built a new life without you and you keep dragging him back into your mess. You kept him away from his unborn child— his family— and all those precious moments. How does he not resent you?_

 _Not just him… think of all those hours all of team have spent with you… You never considered that their lives must have continued on without you. And then you came back and they had to babysit the pathetic, mute prisoner. Even now, they have to spend their free time with you in the hopes of finding the scarred man._

 _You can't be selfish anymore._

 _You don't want to be a burden…_

 _They deserve to be able to move on from you… You don't want to hold them back._

 _And if they have already moved on without you… maybe it's time that you do too._

…

* * *

...

"What do you mean by "strange"?"

"Well," Patterson paused, "She's just been really quiet the last couple days."

Reade looked at her incredulously, "Patterson… Jane's _always_ quiet."

Patterson shot him an annoyed glare, "Yeah, Yeah, I know _that_. It's more than quiet— she's been subdued. Before it felt like she was coming out her shell, but now it feels like she is trying to create distance."

"To be fair, we can't expect her to bounce back so easily. It's amazing how fast her physical recovery has been accelerated by the therapy." Tasha patted her friend's shoulder, "It could take a long time for everything else to follow." Jane was working with her trainer right now — she had been working tirelessly. It was amazing to behold in their sparring matches.

Patterson didn't think that they understood what she was trying to explain.

Ever since Keaton, it felt like Jane was more engaged — it felt almost like before. Under Patterson's eyes, the skittish broken woman had smiled and flourished. Jane had allowed hugs and had been communicating by hand — all of them had noticed the deepening bond between Jane and Weller. Patterson finally felt like they were moving forward as a team.

But the last couple days, it felt like Jane was moving backwards.

Her smile was brittle and she had subtly shied away from physical contact other than in the context of exercise. She let Tasha and Reade drag her into the bullpen for lunch but remained behind when the team went out for dinner yesterday. The most excitement she had shown was when Kurt gave her access to the NSA files on Sandstorm.

She was pulling away and Patterson wanted to know why.

…

* * *

...

Kurt was reluctant to discuss it with the team, but he shared Patterson's concerns. He could admit to himself that most of his professional and personal thoughts had revolved around Jane lately. He could clock it down to the hour when he had noticed the shift occur.

A few days ago, he had noted that he had a lot of paperwork to do and suggested that he could do the work at the desk in Jane's room… like before. It wasn't exactly the truth — in his opinion there was probably never an Assistant Director of the FBI as caught up on their paperwork as he was…given all the hours he used paperwork as an excuse to stay busy in Jane's proximity during her recovery.

The look on Jane's face — it was as if he had punched her in the gut instead of asking for her company. She shrunk away from his outstretched hand and used the pretence of the bathroom to flee the room. Half an hour later, a note was delivered to his desk from Jane.

 _Weller,_

 _You don't have to worry about me after hours anymore. You have enough responsibilities to think about. Please use the time for yourself, you deserve a break._

 _Jane_

Kurt had no idea where she got the crazy notion that spending time with her was some kind of responsibility. If anything, spending time with Jane helped him relax. At least when he was with her, he knew that she was safe.

After long days of saving the world — he could soak in the smile and presence of the woman that was quickly becoming _his_ world.

But lately, Jane practically fled from any situation where it looked like the two of them would be alone together. It made it hard to try and fix whatever was going on. Kurt tried to pretend that this was just a phase — a period of regression in her recovery process — or some such nonsense.

 _If she would just let me talk to her, we could figure this out. If she is upset about something — we can work through it. I'm going to give her another day to process this before I confront her again._

"Hey. HEY! Patterson… Weller… focus!" Zapata snapped her fingers obnoxiously to catch the attention of her team mates who had zoned out.

"Sorry," Kurt rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension, "I just wanted to let you guys know that I received another request from Agent Kamal to create a joint task-force against Sandstorm."

"That weasel just wants an excuse to keep eyes on Jane." Reade rolled his eyes, "She is going to use a 'joint task-force' as an opportunity to pressure Jane into some crazy undercover op. I think it's a bad idea."

"Honestly, how does she think that operation is going to go?" Tasha rubbed her temples, "I mean… Jane just waltzes back into Sandstorm and says… what? Hey guys, I have been gone for almost half a year, 'sup."

"Not only that" Patterson added, "We have no idea what they know about the situation. From Oscar's language and threats, we have to wonder if there are any Sandstorm eyes in or around the FBI — what if they already know the truth? I mean that scarred man…"

"What if they know she killed Oscar — anything she walks into could be a trap."

"Plus, if they are as organized and paranoid as the NSA believes, we would not be able to provide Jane with any sort of tracking devices or support."

Kurt snapped, "She would be literally flying in blind and alone. Without more info, It is a _suicide_ mission."

They had been so passionately wrapped up in the debate, the team didn't notice that the door had opened.

They missed Jane's quiet entrance but the whispery rasp of her rusty voice brought them to a standstill.

"I'll do it."

…

* * *

...

Ever since Jane had learned about Allie and Kurt, she realized how far she had let herself slip. When she was in the CIA's grasp she had steeled herself with the promise that one day she would get out and make things right. Now was her chance.

The domesticity of the team had been both bizarre and seductive. She fought against giving into a sense of belonging. It was an illusion. She had let herself get cozy in the comfortable embrace of the team. She had forgotten her purpose. She had foolishly let herself believe that she could live happily ever after.

Fairy tale endings weren't for people like her. They were for people like Kurt and Allie and their baby — good people.

She had been perfectly designed to infiltrate the team and even now, she was still pulling them down. She sucked them into the vortex of her struggles — it would only be a matter of time before Sandstorm would use that relationship for their own gain.

Sandstorm had so much to pay for; not only the sins against her, but for all the pain and suffering they had caused the dearest people in her life. She couldn't let anyone else get hurt. She had to eradicate the threat of Sandstorm. Now.

She was dangerous. She had to separate herself from them — for their own good.

Jane knew she needed to pull back and get smart. There was no sense in getting attached when she was about to undergo a life-threatening mission. She was, essentially, one woman against an established terrorist organization; there was a strong chance that she would not survive it. In fact, she expected that she wouldn't.

But, by God, she would make them bleed and suffer — like they had made her bleed and suffer.

Jane walked the hallways of the NYO on the way to the bullpen from her last session with Kate. She no longer needed supervised physical therapy — her reflexes and instincts had remained sharp but now she had the muscle strength to match her skills.

She was stronger now — strong enough to see this through.

Jane could see the team had assembled in the usual conference room. They didn't usually convene without her anymore and they looked absorbed in an intense conversation; it sparked her concern.

Jane paused in front of the glass door; her blurred reflection looked back at her.. a determined woman with tense features. Silently, she eased the door open. No one was facing the door nor had anyone noticed her entrance. They were emphatically debating all the dangers involved with her infiltrating Sandstorm's organization.

A tired smile tugged at her lips as Jane listened to the team's attempts to protect her from such a dangerous mission. It made her all the more determined to protect _them_. Kurt called it a suicide mission. But they— he— didn't understand that it was the only way. It was the only way that would give them immediate eyes into Sandstorm's operation and still keep the team safe.

It was her decision and she had made up her mind.

It was strange to speak after so many months. Her throat worked and her vocal chords strained in disuse. When her voice finally sounded, it felt foreign in her mouth and it came out cracked and hoarse.

"I'll do it."

...

Who knew that such a meagre sound could silence the room. As if in unison, the heads of the team slowly turned to face Jane's — jaws gaping in amazement.

"Jane…," Kurt whispered his expression awed.

Patterson beamed and hopped from her seat to hug Jane and tug her further in the room. "You're talking — this is so exciting!"

Reade and Tasha pulled her down into a chair with celebratory back slaps and wide grins. Tasha "That is a sound for sore ears, I wondered if you would ever speak to us again. This calls for drinks!"

Reade pulled her into a side-hug jovially, "You kept us waiting — but it was worth it."

They were so wrapped up in the excitement of hearing her speak for the first time in almost half a year… that they almost forgot what she had actually said. But eventually the words were processed and the heavy weight caught up with them.

Kurt grasped it's importance first. He reached across the table to grasp her hand and capture her attention, "Jane… what did you mean?"

She met his stare solidly, "I said, I'll do it— I'll go undercover into Sandstorm."

The smiles slipped from everyone's faces and they leaned back trying to gauge the veracity of Jane's statement. Disbelief colouring their expressions.

"You don't have to do that, Jane."

"NO! It's too dangerous"

"It's a suicide mission! It's a bad idea."

Kurt's flinty eyes never left her face, even as his hands clenched tighter around hers. She cleared her throat, "I've thought about it… and it's my decision. The intel suggests that they are accelerating into something big. They are too dangerous to be left unchecked and this is the fastest way to get results. I am the best option."

His voice rumbled with authority, "No."

Jane's eyes flashed dangerously as she jerked her hands back, her voice rising, "You can't just say "No," Weller. It's my life and my choice."

The team slowly backed away as Kurt's voice rose to match, "You are on _my_ team and tactical considerations are _my_ decision. I'm not going to let you throw your life away."

"I'm not throwing my life away! I am putting it to good use. Can you think of a better idea?"

"We can come up with a better idea!"

"When! There isn't a lot of time to waste, Kurt. They are mounting an attack as we speak."

"Anything is better than this! It's crazy, Jane!"

At this point they were both standing— breathing heavily and glaring at each other from across the table. Both of them refused to blink and hand over the advantage. Tasha couldn't stop elbowing Reade in the side until he finally swatted her to get her to cease and desist.

A shaky laugh rattled from her — it sounded almost like a sob. "You don't own me, Weller. This is the best plan. And I will do it… with or without your help."

The team took in a collective breathe as Kurt struggled to reign in his immediate response. His eyes never lost that searing blaze as he stood back from the table and slowly walked to the office door.

"I need the room, guys," and Kurt calmly opened the door.

Outside the door, curious onlookers had clustered, lingering in the hall— drawn by the shouting. "Who needs to be here?" he boomed. Most scattered like buckshot and the team followed in their wake.

Kurt shut the door behind them, letting his hand rest on the door as he collected his thoughts. Finally he turned and joined Jane on her side of the table. His voice deepened, "Ownership, isn't what I'm after, Jane. I want us to work together to bring down Sandstorm."

Jane let the tension seep from her body, "It's useless, Kurt. I am offering the best option— please…" her voice took on almost a pleading tone, "please… take it."

"I can't sacrifice you like that Jane. I can't" he begged her to understand that she was asking too much of him. His hands on her upper arms were heavy and insistent.

He didn't understand. For Jane it wasn't a sacrifice. She hated Sandstorm enough to pay the ultimate price to bring them down. And she loved Kurt enough to do anything to protect him… and set him free.

"The people who did this to us are still out there and they need to be stopped. So let's make this right."

He argued, "Killing yourself won't make things right."

Her green eyes glittered, "I just want to make them pay."

…

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*sigh* that last scene and those last lines were too much fun to write

* * *

And, yes… SHE SPEAKS!

For those of you who gave suggestions - I tried to combine variations of the ideas submitted by a few of you.

Gasp! Allie and the baby. It looks like Allie will be playing a minor role and DO NOT WORRY!Jane will learn the truth pretty quickly.

* * *

This moment has been building for a long time. I hope it met expectations. Did you like it?


	17. Going Undercover

I'm glad you guys enjoyed the moment where Jane started speaking again.

As if I could just leave it there. I promised to resolve the Allie issue... This chapter continues the conversation between Jane and Kurt.

It was so much fun to write… I hope you enjoy...

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...

Chapter 17

Going Undercover

...

 _I can't believe the words that are coming out her mouth. Why is she trying to send herself into the lion's den; is she trying to get herself killed? Doesn't she understand that there are people here that care about her— that I care about her?_

"There must be a million things you've got to do." Jane wrenched out of his hold, crossed her arms around her middle and stepped away from him. "I can't imagine."

She had looked at him with uncertainty and distance — and something very close to fear. She was pulling away from him, literally and figuratively. It was unacceptable.

"Believe me, Jane. There is nothing more important to me, right now, than finishing this conversation. You are not walking out that door until I change your mind." He was sorely tempted to lock her in her room until he could make her see reason. And he would too, if he thought it would actually work.

Jane raised her chin determinedly, "I have already set things in motion. I contacted Agent Kamal, to tell her that I was ready to go undercover."

"Why are you forcing my hand." Kurt felt the blood pulsing in his ears. He felt blindsided and his mind was scrambling to make sense of where Jane's rationale was coming from. "I don't understand why you are rushing into this."

He hated the calm mask on her face. How could she be so calm about a suicide mission. "I have healed - now it's time to get back to work. I have to do this," the veneer cracked. "I can help you and then we can all move on — move forward."

"Why are you running away, Jane?"

"I'm _not_ ," She resolutely avoided his eyes.

"You _are_." Kurt stepped forward and invaded her space.

"I'm not running _away_ — I'm running _towards_ a purpose. Sandstorm pushed me into this new life and they're still pulling the strings. They have too much power in my life — in all our lives. When I bring them down, then everything will go back to the way it was— everyone will be safe. I will have served my purpose to the FBI and you won't be burdened by me anymore."

"Whoever said you were a burden Jane?" _She can't believe that!_ Kurt reached out and gently grasped her chin to tilt her face up to his questioning gaze.

Jane snorted in disbelief and shoved his chest to push him back. "Of course, I'm a burden." Her bitter tone melted into shameful plea for forgiveness. "You moved on. You must have been happy once I was out of your world… and then I come back and mess up everything. I never realized how much of your time and lives you sacrificed to make sure I was okay. You've all gone above and beyond but… enough is enough."

Kurt shook his head in confusion, "What?—Jane, no—" He reached out again, but Jane took a step back and raised both hands defensively to ward him off. It hurt.

Jane composed herself, "When we were out for coffee, we ran into Allie." Her eyes watered sincerely as she managed a real smile, "Congratulations, I wish you had said something… I know you are going to be a _great_ dad. I'm sorry— I'm sorry I was such a distraction… that I stole so much of your time."

Relief and regret coloured Kurt's thoughts, "Oh Jane, I could just…" he broke off into a half groan- half laugh.

 _My misguided little doe. She thinks that Allie and me are actually together. I'm an idiot. It's my own stupid fault for not telling her sooner. But why would that make her so upset… could she be hurt or jealous?_

 _Is she sacrificing herself for my happiness? Could she care for me as more than just a friend? Is this the sign I've been waiting for; is this my chance?_

Jane must have misunderstood his laugh because her open expression shuttered into hurt confusion. She looked away and Kurt took a leap of faith; it was time.

Kurt's hands landed on Jane's shoulders. She jerked away and turned her back to him. His arms came around her from behind and he pulled her against him, curving around her, and put his head down next to hers. She hunched her shoulders, resisting his hold. "Please listen to me, Jane." His strained voice caught her attention and she stopped struggling.

"Allie was one night of weakness. I was such an emotional mess after that night. You wouldn't have even recognized me— I didn't recognize myself. I got drunk and— and Allie got pregnant. I don't regret it, I know this baby is a gift, but Allie and I will never be more than friends. She's seriously dating another man and…" He pressed his forehead against the back of Jane's head, "and I'm… still in love with you."

He could hear Jane's breathe coming rapidly as she stiffened in shock against his chest. He loosened his grip and turned her around to see her face. Their eyes locked, hers were wide in disbelief and… hope."

That was all Kurt needed. His hand slid up Jane's neck to cup the back of her head as he lifted her into a deep kiss. A weak gasp escaped Jane and she stiffened, but Kurt didn't relent. When her lips parted and her body yielded, he was lost. His fingers twined desperately in her hair as their mouths met hungrily — a moment hazy with bliss and abandon as he felt Jane's answering lips against his own and her hands curling tightly around his back.

Consumed by the woman in his arms, time lost all meaning, until Kurt felt Jane's hands fall from his back and firmly push at his chest. He reluctantly pulled back, just barely, until his nose brushed hesitantly against her own.

They were both breathing heavily, caught up in the moment, "You can't— we can't… Kurt, you don't want to get attached to me. I'm too…— there's too much baggage between us. I will only hurt you… and I might not survive this mission."

"You can't think like—"

"Yes. I can. For both our sakes."

He pressed a kiss against Jane's forehead and spoke fiercely, "It's too late, Jane. I was hooked from the first time you looked at me with those big green eyes." he leaned back and stroked her cheek, "I love you, Jane. You're it for me."

 _She is always so selfless, but right now I need her to be selfish. I need her to fight for her future. I need her to fight for us._

Jane's hand reached up to touch the hand Kurt had pressed against her cheek. She let her head fall forward and rest against his shoulder. He could feel her curls tickling his ear as she slowly raised slightly and whispered, "I love you too."

Kurt's heart soared and he could feel his face stretch into an impossibly large smile. He felt buoyant and overflowing with happiness. Jane loved him too, he _knew_ it.

"But I still have to do this. I can never move forward if we don't deal with Sandstorm— and time has run out. As it stands, this is the best way."

The smiled melted from his face as Kurt resigned himself to her choice. Letting her walk alone into danger rebelled against all his instincts. All he wanted to do was cocoon her in bubble wrap. But she would be the Jane he knew and loved, if she wasn't trying to save the world. If this was the path she had chosen, he would have to support it and give her the help she needed to survive it.

"Promise you'll come back."

"I promise to do my best."

 _She has to know that this is real. She has to believe that she has someone fighting for her and something to fight for._

"We are going to get through this, Jane, and, you may not be ready to hear it yet, but when this is all over… I will tie you to me any way that I can."

…

* * *

...

Finally Nas had caught a break with this case. She would be a liar if she said that she wasn't concerned that she would have to take more drastic measure to ensure the compliance of Jane Doe and the FBI. Luckily, Jane had come to her senses on her own.

It rubbed her the wrong way to have to share a leadership role on this case. It had been her life's pursuit for years. A labour of uncertainties, closed doors and denial from her superiors. She had battled and strained to earn the grudging respect of her fellows at the NSA and finally have her Sandstorm theory accepted.

This was her moment.

If only, everyone would fall into their assigned roles.

Jane's arms were crossed defiantly and her tone brooked no argument, "I can't use Cade as an excuse anymore, Agent Kamal. You can't use me as bait unless I have a decent background story; I want at least a prayer of surviving this."

"Call me Nas, Jane. It's not a question of getting used. We're working together."

Zapata snorted in the background. Jane rolled her eyes and ground out, "I have no idea was to say to that bit of insanity, _Nas_."

Nas pushed past the hostility, "Cade is a false narrative that you already set up at the barn fire, Jane. Why don't you want to use it?"

Zapata interrupted, "There are too many holes with Cade. We don't know if he's alive… if they already have him… there was no body. If they suspect Jane is lying, they could kill her on the spot."

"And even if we knew the answers to those questions, it's been almost six months since they last heard from me," Jane scoffed, "Cade was one of their best operatives, there is no way they would believe that I could spend six months with him and come out looking like this," she gestured to her now healthy body.

Nas pursed her lips. "No plan is devoid of risks — this is one of the most dangerous terrorist groups in the world. It wouldn't be too difficult to give you some believable artificial wounds. I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little pain to make your cover believable."

Patterson gaped and Reade stepped slightly in front of Jane.

"Agent Kamal," Kurt growled, "We are not in the practice of injuring our own agents, especially when they have already been the victim of extensive torture. Think. Again."

 _Jane sure had this team's unwavering support. If I had gotten in this building when I wanted to, I could have bugged the office to figure out exactly how she did it. Judging from the body language around her, it seemed to be some form of collective Florence Nightingale syndrome — healing Jane had tied this team closer together. I suppose I can use that…_

"Fine. Do you have a different plan in mind?"

Jane stepped out from behind Reade, giving him a grateful nod as she passed, "We tell them that the FBI gave me up to the CIA to be tortured and brought me back to try a different tactic when it didn't work. We tell Sandstorm that I hate the FBI for their betrayal and have only now just recovered and earned enough trust to escape."

Nas hoped the rest of the team was listening because this "fake cover" sounded like truth. "It's plausible enough. If that's the story you're comfortable with… you're the one who has to sell it."

Reade added his own insight, "We also suspect that they've had eyes on Jane for some weeks. There has been a man following her around outside the building. We had to pick a narrative that would explain any interactions he might have witnessed."

"You're just mentioning this now? Is there any footage of him? If he is a Sandstorm operative I should have been told immediately. He should be targeted and followed…"

Kurt arched his eyebrows, "You mean you've been following us for over a year and you never saw him?"

Nas shot him a withering look. He needed to let that issue go already. So what if she had spied on them for over a year; they had more important things to deal with right now.

Bringing the mission back on track, Nas gestured to Jane, "Yes, Well when you're ready we'll drive you to a payphone outside the city to make the call."

…

* * *

...

The team readied themselves to go out into the field while Nas followed Weller into his office. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot the last time I was here. This is a critical case and we need to be able to trust each other."

"It's difficult to trust someone who watched us for over a year and held back some pretty significant information. I get that you want to takedown Sandstorm, but we are not a means to an end. We are not pawns."

"We? Or Jane?"

Kurt glared at her unapologetically. She almost flinched back from the intensity of his stare. It was more than enough to make her believe her suspicions about the relationship between Weller and Jane.

 _What a pity. He was incredibly attractive and sex is an excellent tool for manipulation._

"I value your team, Weller. I will do whatever it takes to make this mission a success — I will not intentionally sabotage my best asset. Jane is a resilient creature — if she can survive Keaton's attentions then I have no doubt she can handle this."

Weller's body went from professional to belligerent in a heartbeat. His frigid aggressive stance made Nas immediately realize that she had made a misstep.

"Agent Kamal, how long were you aware of Jane's time with Keaton?" His tone was deceptively calm, but she could feel the violence in the undertones. It roused disconcerting shivers down her spine.

Nas kept her face bland, "I told you, I have been watching your team since Times Square."

"Four months. You let her be tortured for four months. Is that how you take care of your asset, agent?"

"CIA tactics are brutal but usually effective. I knew whatever information they could extricate would help against Sandstorm. In the end, I admit, it was not productive and Keaton became obsessive and erratic." Nas wouldn't apologize for making hard choices to save her country, "This cause is much bigger than one person."

Weller abruptly rose from his chair. Nas observed the throbbing vein in his forehead and the jerky quality of his movements as he strode over and opened the door. He was obviously upset. "I will work with you, Agent Kamal, for the sake of the mission. But I can't trust you. Let's see if the team is ready."

…

The drive outside the city passed in relative calm and heavy all listened in rapt silence as Jane called Joey's Pizza and confirmed a location— an address in Woodside.

Something about the voice on the other end of the phone rattled Jane. When she hung up, she felt distracted, "It was a different voice, but familiar."

"They probably changed things up with Oscar gone." Nas brushed away her concerns. "Now focus. Remember, you need to push your contact for a meet with Shepherd. Keep track of the details."

Jane could feel the pressing stares from her team as she mentally prepared to infiltrate Sandstorm. She had said her goodbye's earlier in the day to prevent falling into an emotional mess. She needed to tap into a persona of a vengeful and bitter soldier. She needed to to be believable because… she had made a promise to try and survive this.

She knew Kurt was trying to give her distance but she could feel his eyes on her from across the room like a smouldering caress. She shot him a confident nod before falling into a meditative state.

Jane needed to be her past self. She needed to hate. She needed to be ruthless. She buried her true feelings down deep and donned the skin of the woman she only saw in her memories.

She thought Nas' insistence on a tracking chip was foolish. At first she argued as she was fitted with the tooth, but she acquiesced to appear compliant. She would ditch it later. As Jane strapped herself into the provided car, she allowed herself one glimmering recollection of her kiss with Kurt. Motivation.

 _Get in. Get out. Try to survive._

…

* * *

...

The sky was dark when Jane pulled up to the vacant house. Warily she exited from the car and prowled into front yard. The street lights provided an eerie backdrop as she crept forward and peered into the windows. Empty.

From the shadows a voice called out to her in awe, "It's you... It's really you... I'm Roman, do you remember me?" It was the same voice from the phone. The tone tugging at her memories.

A shape materialized from the bushes and pulled back it's dark hood. It was the scarred man. All at once Jane was revisited by the flashes of the man's face aging from a young boy with a raised red scar to the man before her. Except this time, the memories were accompanied by visions of herself with the boy and she was aging with him.

In a daze she asked, "How long have we known each other for?"

"A very long time."

His face was so hopeful and expectant. From the glimpses she had seen of him, he seemed hardened and moved with the fluidity of a practiced soldier. But in the flickering lights of the street lamps Jane read the boyish yearning in his face as he extended his hand out towards her.

Something inside of Jane made her raise her hand and reach out to him in return. He pulled her into a desperate hug. His arms were strong and tight and she was swamped by the scent of his clothes. His smell and his voice in her ear were too familiar…

Jane felt like she was falling…

More memories hurtled through her brain making her dizzy.

Her own young voice promising to protect the scared, scarred boy.

Black and white images of whispered conversations.

Shared smiles and hugs.

Secrets and wishes.

Blood and death

Tears and anger.

Shame and Victory.

Snatches of memories blurred and washed over her like a flood. Not enough to piece together a history but enough to make her guess...

"Brother?" she whispered tentatively.

He jerked back to stare at her in reverent shock. His eyes glimmered as he hugged her again fiercely, "I missed you."

…

* * *

...

I am just fascinated with the role they have given Roman in the show. I am loving this new side of his character.

Because of that, I am inspired to give him a bigger part in this story than I had plotted. What do you think… more Roman?

Yes?

No?

* * *

I love writing Jane/Kurt interactions. A lot of you were asking for more Kurt and Jane talking about their feelings. They have both been aware of their feelings separately for weeks… and I think the idea of Jane's potential death would spur them into admitting them sooner rather than later. Thoughts?


	18. Reunions

YAY I loved your responses. Be prepared for lots of Roman up ahead.

* * *

Reminder that I have opted against having Borden as a mole (A decision made weeks ago, and I can't go back)

* * *

Okay. From your reviews, I know a lot of you are expecting Jane to go undercover with Sandstorm. But I wanted to avoid repeating events from the show as much as possible (because, honestly, I couldn't match up to the live action awesomeness of it all.) And because I really wanted to move in a different direction with Roman.

I have decided to emphasize the vulnerable/ deeply buried good side of Roman, that I believe we are going to start seeing in the show. I am going to accelerate their bond to alter Jane's course. Sort of AU.

I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

...

Chapter 18

Reunions

...

 _I don't know if I will ever be able to forgive my sister for doing this to us… to me. She erased herself. Ripped herself from everything she knew and took herself out of my life._

 _She promised that she would always be there…_

 _She promised_

Roman tried to believe that things would be okay— that she would come back somehow and the parts of her, that were Remi, would magically fly back together. He never understood why Shepherd pressured Remi to accept this role in the mission. But both Shepherd and Remi were on board and he couldn't fight them both.

They had a plan… Remi would be maneuvered into a position of influence and when the time was right they would slowly bring her back into the fold. She would understand, they would show her the truth and she would be restored.

But then Remi and Oscar disappeared.

Oscar was found dead, his body burned. And Remi was gone without a trace.

 _I would have known if she was dead. I would have felt it in my bones— in my soul… I wanted to look for her. She would have done it for me, no questions asked._

Shepherd said that there was no time or resources to spare, when there were no leads to follow. She mourned Remi with sympathetic words and consoling gestures. She performed a moving ceremony for Remi's friends to grieve… but in all of it, Shepherd's eyes were dead. Her words of sadness were tinged with annoyance for the hindrance it would cause her carefully constructed plan.

 _I ached at the way Shepherd turned her back on Remi, her professed daughter. I know our relationship with Shepherd has never been traditional… but I thought… It makes me wonder how she would even feel, If I died. Would she really care?_

 _I hid my fears. I never revealed the resentment I felt at her reaction — I played the role of her faithful soldier._

 _This was the moment where I knew that I cared more about my sister than I did about Shepherd. This organization and this plan was my life and Shepherd had been my saviour…_

 _but Remi was… home._

 _Without her here, it is harder to stay focused… harder to reign myself in. We always were better together._

In secret, Roman cultivated his own informant in the FBI building, a lowly janitor, whose only job was to tell him if Jane Doe ever returned to the building. After months, of agonizing waiting he had almost given up hope. But Roman finally received word that Remi had returned to the NYO.

Roman opted against telling Shepherd about Remi's return from the dead. After her earlier sentiments, his instincts told him to keep it quiet until he knew more… until he had at least seen her with his own eyes.

When Roman was in the city on other tasks, he would stake out the building hoping for a sighting or a scrap of conversation… but nothing. For weeks… not a hide or hair of her. He began to believe that his informant was wrong.

It was fate when Roman was assigned the job of following the new Assistant Director of the CIA to the NYO. Keaton had been nosing around about Douglas Winter and Shepherd wanted to ensure their involvement hadn't been tied to the intel leak.

Roman followed him around the city and finally to the FBI building. Keaton's time in the office had been oddly brief and Roman had lingered in the vicinity to take advantage of the opportunity to scout for Remi.

He had been about to leave, when he spotted her "team" leaving the building en masse. Huddled in the centre, was a familiar figure— Remi. Roman followed them to a nearby park and he could not look away. She was larger than life with a wide, happy grin on her face. He almost thought he was imagining her.

Her fascination was captivating, but strange. He expected that she might look different after all these months… but she looked thin. There was evidence of some scarring on her arms. And the way she moved was faltering and wary. Something had happened…

And then she had looked at him… right at him. It was the first time Remi had seen him since her memory wipe. He was prepared for her gaze to move on… or for the look of pity, strangers gave at the sight of his scar. Instead Roman saw something more pass over her face… like she remembered him. Against his better wishes, he found himself wishing that she _was_ remembering him.

He should have told Shepherd. A good soldier would have. A good son would have.

But in his heart, Roman knew that a good brother _would not_.

Roman gave Shepherd a host of laudable reasons to remain in the city and he looked for Remi every day. Shepherd always said he was too rash — that Remi was best at thinking on her feet. But he proved her wrong; for weeks, he patiently observed and analyzed his sister.

It was long enough to see that Remi— his Remi— was never coming back.

The panic attack at the zoo clinched it. It was all to clear — she had forged strong bonds with this team at the FBI. She liked them— trusted them. There was love in her eyes when she looked at Kurt Weller and from the way Weller held her and watched her, Roman believed he felt the same.

They brainwashed her. They ruined her. They stole his sister and replaced her with "Jane."

 _I have never hated them more._

 _I have never seen her look like this. Can I take her away, when she has found a home here?_

Roman was conflicted. He returned to base and tried to put it out of his mind. He no longer knew what path he should take — Remi would have known. Remi always knew what to do.

Over a week later, the emergency contact phone rang. Shepherd had told him to discard it, believing Remi dead, but he had kept it. It looked like he would have to make a decision sooner rather than later.

He answered the phone, "Joey's Pizza."

…

* * *

...

For a long time they just clung to each other. Jane, had never felt this feeling before… she imagined it was what a sailor must feel like when the docked in the harbour after a long voyage. It was like coming home.

Eventually Roman pulled away, reaching for her arms and pushing back the sleeves to reveal the scattering of scars still pink from healing. "Where did you go, Taylor? What happened?"

Jane stepped back, stung from the lie out of his mouth. "I know I'm not Taylor," she muttered sardonically, "Oscar told me."

"He never should have been your handler. What—"

"But he never had a chance to tell me the truth. What is my _real_ name?" The question burst from her lips. In a way it was to distract Roman from asking about Oscar. On the other hand, this was her brother, if anyone could tell her what her real name— it would be him.

Roman's mouth tugged in a grin and he half teased and half demanded, "You tell me first."

Jane could feel her anticipation dim and face darken. Even though she had rehearsed what she would say, it was difficult to speak. "Weller found out I wasn't Taylor; his dad confessed on his deathbed that he killed Taylor Shaw. Kurt found her body; he was upset," she smiled bitterly at the understatement, "He thought I was the mole; he arrested me and handed me over to the CIA. I was in a black site in Oregon for four months."

Roman's face contorted in anger, "Four months! Shepherd said your cover was solid."

Jane jumped on the namedrop and demanded intently, "I want to see Shepherd."

"No, you don't."

 _What does that mean?_

He read the confusion on her face but sidestepped the issue by giving her the answer to her original question. "We were born in South Africa; Ian and Alice Kruger. Our parents are anti-apartheid activists who were murdered for their efforts. We were forced into a secret academy where orphans were trained to be skilled soldiers. The orphanage was liberated by American forces — Shepherd was with them. She took us in and raised us."

 _I can't— But— Too much information. Too many images. I knew my childhood must have been dark but the truth is just as bad as I expected. It doesn't even feel real. My parents are dead, I can hardly remember them… bodies on the floor. I almost didn't even remember my own brother… Wait?!_

"She? Shepherd is a woman… and she _raised_ us?"

 _It's too much to comprehend. It's wrong; all wrong. It can't be true. I am Shepherd's adopted daughter — the daughter and sister of a terrorist organization! No. It really is so much worse than I feared._

"Is your name Ian or Roman?"

"We renamed ourselves when we came to America. I'm Roman and you were Remi."

"Remi," Jane let the name linger on her tongue. It felt familiar and foreign at the same time. Hers but not hers.

 _I want to ask him so many questions. There are so many things unknown; so many things he would be able to tell me. And this bond… is it just a product of the rush of memories? I've never felt anything like it before… it feels real. I have a brother._

 _I wish I could be selfish._

"Thank you Roman," the truth radiated from her glimmering eyes, her hand fisted against her heart. "Now, I need to see Shepherd."

"No, you don't."

"Stop saying that. After everything I've been through, I've earned a meeting. Four months of torture and two months of healing under the watchful eyes of the team that betrayed me. Do you know how long it has taken to earn their trust and get here?"

"You're lying, _Jane_." He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather.

Jane's eye's narrowed at his choice of moniker. "How can you say that? What more do I have to do, to prove my loyalty."

 _She needed him to believe her or this would go nowhere. Worse— could her brother kill her in cold blood?_

"I've been watching you. I know you— I know when you're lying and you don't pretend with _them_. Your FBI team. You truly care about them— and him— and it looks like the feelings are reciprocated. You made a new family and a new life. If the old Remi saw you now, she'd be disgusted… but then… you're not Remi anymore."

"I'm not gone, Roman. I'm right here."

His calm facade evaporated and he gave into a frustrated yell, "You're not _you_. You were supposed to come back. I was going to show you the truth and you were going to believe in us again. Everything was supposed to be how it was; we would have been side by side. But now, I know, it can never go back. _You_ will never come back. You have her face, but my sister is gone." By the end, his scream had faded into a tortured whisper.

His pain nearly brought Jane to tears. She wanted so badly to comfort him — her brother. She didn't know what to offer him, "I'm still your sister, Roman. I can try."

He gave a choked laugh, "I don't think so. The FBI saw to that. The FBI and _Kurt Weller_ ," Roman spat out the name vehemently, "They've brainwashed you. I've watched you with them— you're Jane, now."

He talked about her as if she had died. Jane's heart called out to him — recognizing kinship with the lonely man standing in front of him. Her brother who, despite everything, was still trying to protect her even when she had lied to his face.

She was shocked by how desperately she wanted to save him in return. "I can help you, Roman. I don't want to lose you now that I've only just found you. Please."

"You didn't lose me. We had a whole life together that you _chose_ to erase. You _left_ me—," raw emotion strangled Roman into silence.

 _It seems I will forever be paying for decisions I can't remember making. Even though I can barely remember him, I can feel the bond between us. Why would I cut myself away from my only family? Or was I only trying to get away from Shepherd…_

 _Regardless, Roman is my brother. I've found him… and I don't think I can give up this part of myself. Not again._

Finding new strength, Roman continued, "Don't you understand, I'm trying to save you. Shepherd doesn't know you're alive, but if you come forward now… Shepherd will see right through your lies. You're a liability; she'll kill you. She won't even blink."

Jane wasn't afraid of the threat of death— but she was afraid for Roman. They had moved far past the point of pretence. She scrambled for a reason— any reason— to pull him onto her side.

She cupped his scarred cheek with her hand and pleaded, "Please don't do this Roman. Come back with me; we could end this now. We would be free, together."

Resigned to the inevitable, Roman tonelessly responded, "you've picked your side and I've picked mine. It's too late."

There was too much at stake. "It's _not_ too late! If I can have a second chance, you can too. Think, Roman! We can do the right thing as a team and end this madness."

Roman smiled at her sadly as if she were a confused child. "I love you, Remi, you always protected me. That is why I'm going to pretend I never saw you tonight. I won't tell Shepherd you're alive and I am going to hope you take the opportunity to run."

"No. Please, Roman—"

"It's too late for me now, Remi, I'm in too deep. I've done too much. I'm too—" Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around in a tight hug. There was a strong sense of finality in the act — as if it were a last goodbye. It made her want to lock her arms around his waist and force him into the car, but she didn't. And when he pulled away, she bravely gave him a weak smile.

"I almost forgot," Roman shook his head absentmindedly and dug into his jacket pocket. "This is yours."

He opened her hand, place a gold coin in the centre of her palm and curled her fingers around it tightly. The coin was warm in her hand. She could feel the surface and edges were worn from age and affection. Jane knew in her heart that it something special — a symbol of some deeper meaning between them. She hated that she couldn't remember it.

Roman ruffled her hair gently, and walked into the darkness. With a final look behind him, Roman smiled sadly, "Goodbye, Remi."

"Goodbye Roman."

Jane's heart broke and she felt the salty tears slip down her cheeks. She could taste them on her lips and feel their dampness on her collar. She swore to herself that these would not be their last words — that she would find some way to save him.

…

* * *

...

Jane stumbled back to her car in a daze. She sat in the driver's seat and tried to process what had just happened.

 _I have a brother. A brother who loved me very much, enough to protect me now even when I have changed so much in his eyes. A brother I feel my heart re-attaching to, even when I know he has probably damned himself in the eyes of the world._

It was a testament to how much Roman had shaken her world, when Jane realized that she had sidestepped her mission. Nas would be angry; she had blown her plan to pieces. She was supposed to infiltrate Sandstorm and negotiate a meeting with Shepherd.

She had failed, miserably.

But considering what Roman had revealed, it didn't look like it was a mission that was likely to succeed. She would have to scrap it and come up with something else. Ideally, if she could bring Roman onto their side — he could provide them with enough intel to bring Sandstorm to an end.

She couldn't deny that the plan would also allow her to save Roman from himself.

Shaking free of her thoughts, Jane pulled out her phone to call Kurt. The phone barely rang once before Kurt's gruff voice came through, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Jane smiled, touched at the reminder of his concern, "I'm completely fine; not a scratch on me. The mission was less than successful though."

"Why, did he not show?"

"Oh, he showed," Jane took a deep breathe, "It was the man who has been watching me and… he's my brother, Roman."

Shocked silence crackled on the other line

"He confronted me with the truth. He knows my allegiance is with the FBI and refused my request to meet with Shepherd. He said that Shepherd would recognize my lies quickly and kill me even faster."

"Jane… What else did he— did he threaten you? What does Shepherd know right now?"

Jane cut him off, slightly angered by the turn of his thoughts. "No, he didn't threaten me; he is trying to protect me. And Shepherd… Shepherd is—" she trailed off, unsure how to break the news.

"Jane?"

"Roman said that we were born in South Africa. We were orphans trained to be super soldiers. We were rescued by American soldiers and taken to the States where… where Shepherd raised us as our foster-mother."

"Shit. thats—" Kurt grappled for words, "Oh Jane… baby, that's messed up. Are you okay?"

"I know… I'm still trying to— At least it explains some things. It's a lot to process." Desperate to change the subject, Jane pushed on. "Anyway, it looks like the plan isn't feasible. Roman says that Shepherd thinks I'm dead and that he won't tell her otherwise. I want to try to turn him, Kurt, I think he is the answer. I just found him and I don't want to lose him, he's my brother."

She could hear Kurt struggling to remain professional on the phone, "Okay, we'll talk when you get back okay? We will figure something out."

"Okay. I'll see you soon," she paused and added tentatively, "Love you…"

"Love you too, drive safe."

…

Her fingertips reached up to feel the broad smile on her face. It was amazing how such small, simple words could transform everything. She reached over to put the phone on the seat and start the car.

Her mind was racing with all the new information she had learned from Roman. Her name. Her past. Her family. So many answers all at once, it was difficult to sort them out of the tangled conversation and memories.

She wanted to get home to Kurt

She wanted to look into all the information she had learned from Roman

She wanted to figure out a new plan to stop Sandstorm and redeem her brother

She was distracted

When the car doors were violently yanked open, she was taken unawares. A smoke bomb went off in the back seat sending a thick cloud of choking vapour throughout the car. Jane fought on instinct, unable to see and hindered by the confines of the car.

Arms reached from both sides to subdue her arms and legs. Jane kicked aggressively and punched out rapidly to try and create a window to escape. She got grim satisfaction out of the fact that she landed a hard kick in the soft flesh of someone's belly and felt the spray of blood when she broke another assailant's nose.

Even with her impressive skills, the unseen arms were unrelenting and overwhelming. Within minutes, Jane's limbs were pinned and a dark clothe bag was pulled over her head.

Struggling against the human bonds, Jane swore violently and didn't stop clawing for freedom until she felt the pinch of a needle in her arm.

Her muscles relaxed against her will and, as reality began to drift away, Jane despaired when a haunting voice echoed from the void, "Did you miss me, Janie. I told you we would be together again soon."

...

* * *

GASP! Cliffhanger… don't hate me...

Think of the "I love you's"

Think of the awesome Roman-ness of it all

Think of the adorable and angsty Roman/Jane interaction

Think of… ummmm… okay, I'm sorry about the cliff hanger. But I promise to update soon.

* * *

What do you think of Roman's POV and getting inside his head?

Thoughts on Keaton's return?


	19. In the Devil's Hands

Wow. I love your responses. I couldn't ask for better cheerleaders and some of you bring up such wonderful constructive input (I wish I had you as betas, seriously). Sadly it is too late to go back to fix some of what you guys bring up, but I will keep learning for next time.

You have no idea what your comments mean to me — they really do inspire me to keep going and try to do better :) Please keep letting me know your thoughts.

* * *

Obviously the show tried to humanize Keaton. I can't lie, I was a little sad that it wasn't a more charged reunion with his return.

My plot was already decided so… this fic is taking an non-canon approach to Keaton's background and persona. He is twisted and obsessive — he has tunnel vision where it comes to Jane and comes up with reason in order to rationalize that obsession.

* * *

...

Chapter 19

In the Devil's Hands

...

In the end it was much easier than he thought. Keaton expected that it would take an elaborate scheme of blackmail… coercion… possibly some physical violence in order to get Jane back into his possession. Lucky him, they let her out of the building alone and unprotected. All it took was the physical violence.

With the junior agent on the Critical Response Unit's floor still under his proverbial thumb. Keaton had been able to press him for frequent reports on Jane's interaction with the team. It was only a matter of time before his stooge reported that the NSA got involved.

Nas Kamal was a pushy bitch; but they had made a deal in the past. In return for some intel on Jane's movements with the FBI in the prior year, Keaton had, as per Kamal's request, repeatedly questioned Jane as to the relevance of Kurt Weller. Like all of his other questions, it went unanswered.

Agent Kamal had been unhappy with his progress and it looked like she jumped ship to join forces with the FBI. Although, it didn't look like Weller was too happy with her presence on his team. Good luck, Nas.

Just thinking of Weller made Keaton's blood boil.

Weller thought he could keep Jane from him, like he was some knight in fucking armour. Weller had foolishly gotten emotionally attached to his asset. A sick grin snuck over Keaton's face as he imagined Weller's reaction when he realized his precious Jane was missing. He would have no idea where to start.

Keaton's superiors had been less than happy with the results of his interrogation of Jane Doe. After four months he had not produced actionable intel, it had caused friction with the FBI and, in the end, the FBI had regained custody anyway.

Once it became clear that Jane's intelligence and ties to a domestic terrorist group would be better utilized by the FBI, Keaton's director had decided to wash his hands of her until that threat had been neutralized. They chose to prioritize other interests despite his arguments.

They didn't understand how valuable that intel could be to the CIA; "Sandstorm" obviously had knowledge of international networks and foreign threats. The FBI went on their merry way, using _his_ asset and _his_ information (information, by the way, they were not sharing freely with the CIA) and the CIA was left at the mercy of whatever the FBI deigned to offer.

Keaton had fought his superiors' decision to no avail. But he would prove them wrong. Four months he had invested into this project — he was not letting her slip through his fingers again. He had every right to get that intelligence — every right to do whatever it took to get it.

Jane Doe had gotten into his blood and his head. She had bested him… and he couldn't let it go. Her silent, stoic face mocked him — breaking her had become an obsession. Keaton itched to make her suffer for humiliating him. But he had to play it smart. He had to be a ghost.

He surveilled the building and team using a couple of trusted team members. Damn Weller for making this harder than it had to be. Every time, Jane left the building she had an escort and was closely monitored. He also hadn't personally seen a single instance of her speaking — Damn her stubbornness.

Once Nas returned to the NYO, though, Keaton knew something was afoot. It was only a matter of time until Nas got Jane out into the field. Her fixation on Sandstorm would make her predictable.

Keaton's patience paid off.

The next evening, Jane left the NYO alone in a civilian vehicle. His men alerted him and trailed her at a safe distance until she stopped in an industrial neighbourhood. By the time he reconnoitred with his team, Jane's contact had left and she was alone.

Perfect.

He got sadistic glee when he overheard the exchange of "I love you's" between Jane and Weller. This would be so much more fun than he thought.

Poor Weller would never know what happened to her after that last conversation. Keaton bet he could torture Jane with that knowledge alone. Just like Taylor Shaw, Jane Doe would disappear from under Weller's nose; another failure to protect.

With the support of his men, it had been a simple matter of subduing Jane, drugging her and throwing her in the back of his trunk for transport.

As she lay prone in the trunk, Keaton stroked Jane's unconscious cheek

 _I'm going to break you, pet. You thought you had gotten away, but no one escapes me until I am ready. Weller thought he could keep you from me, but I beat him._

 _The challenge was invigorating… but four months of your silence, humiliated me. My boss thinks that I'm inept and that I've grown slack. It's time to pay for your silence._

 _Weller and his team broke your impermeable shell, now I'm going to crack you wide open._ _I will make you scream if it's the last thing I do._

 _…_

* * *

 _..._

Jane should have been back forty minutes ago.

Kurt tried to rationalize the delay. Jane had just learned that she had a brother, that she had severely traumatic past and that she had been raised in the bosom of a home-grown terrorist organization. It was a lot to take in; Jane probably just needed some time to herself to think it through.

He tried her phone again… it went to voicemail.

"Jane. If you get this message, I'm worried, call me back."

Kurt's instincts nagged at him; even if Jane was processing in private, she would answer his call. Something was wrong.

Kurt could see that he wasn't alone in his concern. Outside his office, the rest of the team had gathered haphazardly in the bullpen. Although they maintained a casual conversation, their eyes kept straying to the clock. It wasn't like Jane to be late.

Nas was the only one that didn't betray a single sign of concern. Then again, she was no longer excitedly anticipating Jane's return and insight. Nas' mission plan had failed and she had the unhappy pleasure of coming up with a new plan, now that her asset had been thoroughly compromised.

 _What if Jane was in a car accident? What if Roman came back and ambushed her? What if Sandstorm ambushed them both? What if something spooked her and she ran away? What if she decided to fight Sandstorm on her own?_

 _That's it! Sitting here and worrying isn't going to help. I need to be proactive._

"Patterson, I need you to pull up any footage of the address in Woodside."

Relieved to take action, Patterson hurried to her station to scan the area for available cameras to pull from. They slowly crowded around her computer, eager to view the data. "Bad news, Weller, Jane's brother must have picked the site for a reason. It's in a black zone of city cameras."

Kurt's fists sounded loudly on the table and he growled in frustration.

Nas voice carried over their shoulders from behind. "Have you considered the fact that Jane may have lied to you? She would be welcomed back to Sandstorm with open arms with the arsenal of data she has against you."

"You think Jane went back to Sandstorm after everything they put her through?" Reade asked cynically.

"Think of everything you put her through," Nas countered smugly. "The cover story she put in place sounded quite plausible to me. Maybe she has been playing you all this time, biding for her chance for escape."

Zapata shot the other woman a dirty look, "Shut up, Nas. No one asked for your opinion and just in case you wanted to live in reality with the rest of us. Jane is of no value to Sandstorm if she has lost her access to the FBI. They wanted her inside the organization, otherwise they could have pulled her out ages ago."

Kurt dismissed Nas summarily. "Agent Kamal, thank you for your theory. Please feel free to brainstorm in an empty conference room while we consider a few other ideas." He didn't have time to babysit a petulant agent who's mission didn't go according to plan. Jane was missing, he had more important things on his mind.

"Where could she be?" Patterson spun around in her chair looking for answers in the faces around her.

Reade tried to offer a solution, "Maybe she just needed to clear her head. Maybe she went for a walk and forgot her phone in the car."

Zapata rolled her eyes and he gave a weak shrug.

"What if she's hurt somewhere or what if Sandstorm's got her." Patterson's blue eyes filled with tears.

At Kurt's stricken face, Patterson clapped her hand over her mouth. Her apology was muffled by her fingers, as she spun back around determined to find an answer— any answer. "I'm going to track Jane's movements from the moment she left the FBI building and then see if she pops back onto the grid."

Kurt dropped a hand on the blonde's shoulder, "Thanks, Patterson."

"I'm going to call the nearest hospitals and see if anyone's been admitted matching Jane's description." Reade's mouth twisted at the possibility, but he couldn't sit there twiddling his thumbs.

"Good, Reade." responded Kurt, even if his eyes said otherwise. "Zapata, you're with me. We are going to Woodside. Patterson, let us know immediately, if you track Jane's car leaving the area."

…

* * *

...

Zapata watched Kurt out of the corner of her eyes. His posture was tense and his driving erratic. He had put on the sirens to cut through the city traffic, but muted them as soon as he was within ten minutes of their destination.

She wasn't an idiot. Her instincts told her that something had gone terribly wrong. Tasha prayed that she was overreacting. She prayed for an innocent explanation — heck, she would take a flat tire or car accident at this point.

 _It's cruel. We only just got Jane back. Now, the first moment she gets out into the world, something happens. Weller won't be able to deal, if she's dead. I don't know if we'll be able to come back from it._

 _She's always be so unstoppable, even after four months of torture she landed on her feet. She has to be okay._

Weller slowly rolled to a stop across the street from the house. Zapata immediately zeroed in on the familiar car parked in front of the house, "Weller. Look."

The car doors were flung wide open. It was empty.

Guns drawn, they exited the vehicle and hurried to the scene. Zapata tapped into the comm on her ear, "Patterson. Reade. Jane's car is here; it's abandoned. Doors are open, keys still in the ignition—"

She was cut off by Kurt's fist smashing into the roof of the car with a feral swear. Tasha peered over his shoulder and her heart stopped. Blood droplets sprayed the driver's seat and steering wheel.

Swallowing heavily, Tasha finished addressing the team, "— Evidence of foul play. We have some blood here… minimal. Get a team out here to analyze the scene and knock on some doors. Maybe we'll be lucky and someone saw what happened."

Tasha moved cautiously towards her boss. The man who always appeared so unshakeable; always in control, always ready with an answer.

Kurt turned around, his face lost as if he was in shock. He voice oddly toneless as he held out an object clutched in his hand, "They left her phone behind. She was… right here and now she's gone. She's disappeared."

"Weller?," Tasha hedged as she gently removed the phone from his hand. "A team is coming to collect evidence. You need to pull it together, we have to act fast while the attack is still fresh. They can't have gotten far."

"Who took her, Tasha?"

"She's still alive, Kurt. That blood is from a small injury, not enough to kill her." She got in his face aggressively and shook him to snap him out of his numb state. "Do you hear me! Jane's still alive and she needs us, right _now._ "

Kurt's face jerked back to attention. Sirens sounded in the distance to signal backup as Kurt's posture transformed. Shaking off his trauma and adopting the stance of quiet lethalness, Kurt's eyes took on a murderous fire. Zapata took a step back as Weller stalked back to the car, his body alert, poised, and ready to strike; hostility rolled off of him in waves.

He was still Weller, but somehow he had become terrifying.

 _Hold on, Jane, we're coming. Weller looks ready to kill; I'd hate to be in the shoes of whoever took you._

…

* * *

...

Kurt didn't say a word as he sprinted through the office doors. His temper was on a short fuse and his body taut like a tightened wire— ready to snap at anything brave enough to interrupt him.

Patterson's pinched face stopped him in his tracks.

"Tech's are analyzing the blood found at the scene. Good news is, that it's not Jane's blood type —"

Weller jumped on her intel and cut her off, "—Good. I want them to run it in every database we have. I want to know who is responsible."

"Weller! Weller! Kurt!" Patterson's face was white with strain, "I already know."

"How? Who?"

"I followed Jane's car on CCTV footage. They were discreet— always staying a few cars behind— but she was followed by a dark sedan from the moment she left the office. They followed her into the black zone. I zoomed in to capture their faces…"

Kurt focused on the screen intently— were the faces familiar? Something about their features did strike a familiar chord.

"There's more. Once I had their faces I used recognition software to analyze the footage of the cameras surrounding the dead zone, hoping to catch them on their way out." Patterson pulled Kurt over a computer station as she pulled up what she had discovered. "Here, is their vehicle. Look at the black car behind them; look who's driving it."

"It's Keaton," the words fell out of his mouth like lead.

The room was silent. Everyone wearing varying expressions of horror and shock. They had no reason to hope that Keaton's plans for Jane would be anything less than brutal.

Kurt's heart was pounding in his chest. How could he have forgotten about the CIA. He had been so consumed with the idea of Sandstorm, the CIA hadn't even been considered as an option. If Patterson hadn't found the footage, he would still be wondering…

With a voice dripping with violent intent Kurt jabbed at Keaton's face on the screen, "Where is he taking her, Patterson? Where are they?"

"They disappeared into an underground parking garage and haven't re-emerged yet. We just sent a team to investigate when you came got back.

…

* * *

...

Jane's vision was blurry, the bright lights made her recoil and close her eyes tightly. Her whole body ached like one big bruise and her mouth was bone dry. Her wrists throbbed and her head was pounding.

Tentatively she opened her eyes again. After a few blinks, she adjusted to the light and her vision cleared.

She was in a small concrete room, about the size of a closet. Above her head, buzzed a lone lightbulb. Testing her limbs, Jane tensed as she realized her wrists and ankles were bound with rope. Looking down, she realized with horror that she had been changed into a familiar, ragged jumpsuit.

 _No no no no no._

 _This is a nightmare. Please, anything but this. Any one but him._

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jane searched her mind — trying to remember what happened. How did they get her?

She remembered Roman. She remembered calling Kurt. Then there was smoke — it was choking her, she couldn't breath. Hands, rough hands. She hit back, there was blood and screaming— she was screaming. Keaton's voice haunting from the blackness. Her throat choked in revulsion at the thought of someone changing her clothes while she was out.

Kurt thought she was on her way back. What would he think when she didn't show up. Would he think that she ran away? Betrayed them?

 _No. He'll come looking for me. He loves me._

 _How much time has passed… do I dare hope that they will be able to find me this time?_

Stealing herself against the inevitable, Jane forced herself to be pragmatic. She was in the hands of the CIA — things were about to get painful. She needed to find a way to survive before she could find a way to escape.

She had to assume that even if a rescue was on its way — there was a strong chance that she would be difficult to locate, if they ever did locate her at all. Plan A was, as always, rely on herself to survive and escape. A rescue would have to be plan B.

A click echoed against the walls of the small room. The door unlocked and squealed the unwelcome entrance of her captor. "Hello, Jane. So glad to see you awake."

Jane's stomach twisted and her body shuddered at the the familiar voice. Keaton. The unholy demon from her nightmares. She wished she could wake up, but she was all too aware that this nightmare was real.

 _Distract him!_

"If you wanted to visit, Keaton. I would have preferred a restaurant or a nice conversation over the phone. Why the theatrics?" Jane forced her voice to sound blasé and unconcerned.

He chuckled, "So glad to hear you talking again, Jane. I knew a little time with the FBI would knock some sense in you. It took a little longer than I would have liked, but I think it's time we finished our conversation."

"What would you like to talk about? I haven't exactly kept up with current events; what exactly is the local sports team up to?"

"Oh Jane. Such a sense of humour; such a refreshing change. I wonder how long that will last. No, nothing so trite as sports; I'm more interested to know what you've told the FBI about Sandstorm. And I want to know what you were doing in Woodside."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's like you want me to hurt you, pet."

Jane smiled in faux sweetness before spitting in his face. The sight of her saliva sliding down his cheek gave her a sense of satisfaction she could hold onto.

"Have it your way... Come on boys, string her up."

 _Stay calm. You've done this before, you can do it again. Focus on survival. Let the world fall away._

…

* * *

So I solved the cliff hanger but sort of still left you hanging… sorry… I PROMISE that things will be moving quickly.

Thoughts on the chapter?

* * *

Before you ask…

I am not done with Roman yet. I have read your reviews and I agree, some Roman/Kurt interaction and possible teamwork is a must and will start in the next chapter.

* * *

Question:

What are your opinions for the fate of Keaton...

Dead?

Severely injured?

Let go, begging like a baby?


	20. An Unexpected Partnership

For those of you that might wonder why I chose to have Jane recaptured by Keaton, I want to offer an explanation.

It was not an effort to gratuitously torture Jane some more. This story started with Jane under Keaton's control for an extended period of time— it was the story's original premise. My plot comes back to Keaton because, while Jane has had a chance to heal and move forward with the team emotionally, Keaton is still a viable threat and is something she hasn't dealt with.

This experience with Keaton will be brief (I PROMISE) but bringing him back and having Jane and the team overcome him is my way of bringing a conclusion to that issue. Not only do we get the satisfaction of seeing him pay for his sins, but Roman gets involved and Jane and the team come out stronger, gain closure and it brings the story full circle.

Hopefully that makes sense — if not, blame my crazy brain for coming up with it.

* * *

...

Chapter 20

An Unexpected Partnership

...

"Do they have an update yet?" Kurt growled impatiently as he stalked the bullpen. He ruthlessly surveyed the office and hovered menacingly over the workspace to ensure the everyone felt the pressure to come up with insights.

Reade had long since given up trying to calm him down. Like the rest of the team, he was staying away from Weller whilst frantically searching through footage and combing through contacts to find a lead. It was impossible to look Weller in the eye when all he could think about was Jane suffering by Keaton's hand.

They were currently waiting on an update from the team converging on the parking garage as well as further updates from the team in Woodside canvasing the neighbourhood for witnesses.

When Kurt's phone finally rang, the rest of the office froze — their eyes and ears riveted to the conversation. They hoped against hope for good news.

Kurt ran his hand roughly through his hair. "No one?," he seethed incredulously, "Not a single witness?"

Reade's shoulders sagged as he listened to one half of a conversation that would disappointingly not provide a lead. That area of Woodside was an industrial and rough neighbourhood; there wasn't a lot of expectation for a willing witness. People around there didn't go around borrowing trouble; if they heard anything it was doubtful they would risk incurring someone's wrath by sticking their necks out.

Expectation now hinged on the second team in Brooklyn. The minutes ticked by as they waited. When the welcome sounds of the field team's voices finally crackled through Patterson's computer, Reade listened with baited breathe.

They concentrated as the field team descended into the parking garage. "We are entering the structure."

There were muffled sounds of movement and the hushed reverberation of breathing — but no raised voices or shots fired. The lead agent updated, "There are several vehicles parked here. It's quiet — looks like people use it for overnight parking."

Kurt communicated with the lead agent, "You are looking for two dark sedans with license plates… " he rattled off the plates that Patterson had pulled from the footage.

"Copy that, we have eyes on the vehicles. Should we proceed, sir?"

"Proceed," Kurt affirmed.

In the background they could hear the shuffling of agents as they circled the vehicles and analyzed it for tampering. "The front and back seats of both vehicles are empty. At a cursory glance— no blood, weapons or personal items left behind."

"The trunk," Kurt rasped, "Check the trunk."

As if in slow motion they heard the click of the trunks release and the squeak as the hatches were lifted. "No body, sir."

Reade and Zapata exchanged a comforting glance as some tension lifted from their shoulders — Jane wasn't dead. Their breathe of relief was cut short when they realized they had no new evidence whatsoever.

Masking obvious frustration, Weller grilled the agent, "Look for an exit. How did they get out of the underground."

After several minutes it became clear that the underground structure had several below-level paths— one leading to a metro station, one accessed a local mall, one to another underground parking structure across the street as well as several paths to side streets around the neighbourhood.

Patterson was quickly trying to analyze the available footage of the metro station and the mall — but the other options did not have CCTV footage. With a sinking heart, they all began to fear that they had reached a dead end — or at least a point that would require painful hours of study and guesswork in order to move forward. They didn't have that kind of time.

Keaton's CIA training would have ensured that he did not leave an easy trail to follow; it was too much to hope that he would make this simple.

Reade tried not to stare at his leader. Weller didn't need an audience at such a moment; but it was difficult to look away when the emotions were streaking so clearly across his face. Frustration, terror, anger and agony swirled across the man's face as he paced violently around Patterson's computer.

Reade knew they needed a new lead. Fast.

…

* * *

...

Kurt's nails cut ruthlessly into his palms as he fought the urge to strike out violently. He wanted to punch the wall or hurl a paperweight through the glass walls— anything… anything to release his pent up frustration. Anything to feel like he was accomplishing something.

 _How could I have lost her? I promised her that I would keep her safe. I can't fail her… again._

 _There has to be a way to get her back… there must! If it's clear that the CIA has her, we can demand her return — but that could take days. If this was a sanctioned capture, they may stonewall us indefinitely like last time._

 _But Pellington felt that the CIA understood Jane's significance to our investigation; is it possible that Keaton went rogue? Who could pry information from the CIA?_

Kurt scanned the room distractedly. They needed intelligence from the CIA. Where could Keaton take Jane? His eyes drifted over his team, hard at work going over the data again and again looking through obscure footage for a hit. His gaze fell on the dark figure standing in the background.

 _Nas. She admitted to having knowledge of Keaton's actions before. The NSA is an intelligence agency; they must have some information on CIA-owned buildings and areas of operation._

Striding forward with new purpose, Kurt hauled Nas bodily into his office. "Agent Kamal, where would Keaton take Jane?"

Nas stumbled awkwardly and used the desk to right herself with an annoyed frown, "I don't know, Weller. We weren't exactly best friends. I imagine he might be using a different black site location or something similar."

"I agree. Nas, Jane was willing to risk her life for your investigation; she is still a valuable asset against Sandstorm. If you want her back, it would be wise to use any contacts you have within the CIA to find out what the hell Keaton is doing and where he might be hiding."

"What makes you think I have access to that kind of information?" Nas dared, her steel gaze not betraying a single emotion.

"You were able to glean intimate details of my team's movements within the FBI for over a year, I have no doubt that you, or someone else in the NSA, has similar eyes on other agencies like the CIA. This is non-negotiable, Nas."

For a moment Kurt thought Nas might continue play dumb, but he supposed she realized that Jane might still have a part to play in her mission against Sandstorm. If only for selfish reasons, she would help find Jane.

Nas nodded jerkily and marched out of the office, "I'll see what I can find out." Her phone was already glued to her ear. _Thank God_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Reade walking up to him slowly. "Got something, Reade?"

"Not exactly," Reade shuffled uncertainly. "I'm wondering if maybe we are missing a possible resource?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt was instantly trying to think of what he could have overlooked.

"We're forgetting, Jane was jumped soon after her meeting with Roman… maybe he saw or overheard something. Jane said her cover was already blown with him and… If he's Jane's brother, maybe he would help?"

Kurt was willing to try anything.

…

* * *

...

Kurt closed the door to his office soundlessly. The FBI's attempted undercover infiltration of Sandstorm was still top secret; he didn't want any unwelcome ears to overhear the conversation.

Jane said that Roman wanted to protect her against Shepherd. Orphan siblings bonded by shared grief and a horrific childhood would surely do anything for each other…

He had to believe that.

Kurt carefully dialled the contact number and prayed for Roman to answer. It rang and rang and rang. Kurt's heart sunk with each unanswered toll. He was about to end the call when he heard a click.

"Joey's pizza." A gruff male voice.

"Is this Roman?"

Silence.

Kurt had to pray he was talking to the right person — desperate times called for desperate measures. And, make no mistake, he was a desperate man.

"Roman. Don't hang up… Jane's in danger." Kurt paused briefly to listen for a reaction. All he heard was a slight change in breathe. "My name is Kurt Weller. After Jane met with you, she was ambushed by CIA operatives and captured. Do you know anything; did you see— or hear— anything?"

Silence.

"Roman, please, I know that you're Jane's brother. You must care about her if you were willing to protect her from Shepherd. All our efforts have reached a dead end. Help me, _please_." Kurt didn't even try to mask the heavy emotional plea.

"Why should I believe anything you say."

"I would never lie about Jane — not when her life's at risk."

Roman seethed; this was infuriatingly typical, "People wonder why our country is going to hell — it's because shit like this happens. Agencies that are supposed to be protecting its citizens are going around kidnapping and torturing women. Where is the accountability?"

Kurt didn't have any patience for political diatribes, "We can discuss the failings of our country later, Roman. Do you know something?"

"I know you were supposed to _protect_ her and you failed. You let the CIA get a hold of her, not once but _twice_. I ought to hang up on you right now; I don't owe you anything — you don't deserve my help."

Grasping, Kurt fired back immediately. "I know I failed her. I may not deserve your help, but Jane _does_ — your sister _does_. She cares about you, she told me. And I know you care about her or you wouldn't have risked yourself to warn her. Please, I— I love her, more than you know. I will do anything…"

The long pause had Kurt squeezing his eyes shut tightly in prayer.

Roman's response was gruff, "I did what I could for Jane out of respect for my sister, even though she's not… the same. I did my best; I gave her a chance to get out and have a life outside of this." He sounded frustrated when he admitted, "But I left the area immediately after our meet; I didn't see anything."

Kurt's head dropped in defeat, another dead end.

Roman wasn't finished, "Tell me what you know so far."

"We know that she was taken from her car outside of Woodside by Assistant Director Keaton and a couple of other CIA agents. They drove to an underground parking structure in Brooklyn with multiple exits, no cameras. From there we lost them — we are trying to get info on sites used by the CIA in that area."

"Keaton is involved? Fuck me, Weller, I don't see what Remi sees in you. What have you been doing— twiddling your thumbs?"

"We are doing everything we can." Kurt growled defensively, "A little help would be appreciated."

"I made it clear to Jane that she was on her own from this point on — I did what I could to protect her. She chose her side. She's practically a stranger."

Kurt sensed the hurt and frustration underlying Roman's declaration.

"Roman. If you truly believe that, you are lying to yourself. Jane may not remember everything about you — but she remembered how much she loved you. One of the last things she said to me was how much she didn't want to lose you after just finding you. Don't give up on her yet."

The phone clicked and Kurt was left with the static of dead air, but he knew that Roman had heard him. He had no reason to truly expect any actions or results from Roman — the man was working with even less information than what they had.

And yet, for the first time since Jane went missing, Kurt felt a glimmer of hope.

…

* * *

...

As soon as he heard the disembodied male voice on the other end of the phone, Roman knew who it was. Kurt Weller. The man had been extensively researched and primed over the years for his role in their endgame. Still, it was a never a voice he expected to hear, saying his name on that secure line.

Shepherd may have viewed Remi and Kurt's closeness as a necessary part of the plan — but that manipulation was never something he found easy to stomach. Imagine, his sister in a relationship with an Assistant Director of the FBI… she would have _hated_ it.

He had only just learned of Remi's four month torture with the CIA and now to learn that she was back in their twisted hands. He blamed Kurt Weller exclusively. Clearly, expectations of him being above reproach were sorely exaggerated. If Weller cared about his sister, he would have ensured her protection — she was worth more than a two-time failure.

And just the thought of Keaton— KEATON! — as the agent in charge of Remi's capture made him physically ill. That man had a ruthless streak that went bone-deep. When they had talked earlier, Remi had only said she was held by the "CIA," she hadn't said _Keaton_.

 _I am going to enjoy killing that man… slowly._

Looking back, knowing that Keaton had intentions for his sister painted his excursion to the NYO all those weeks ago in a new light.

When Shepherd had assigned him the job of following Keaton to test that their involvement in the Douglas Winter intel leak hadn't been exposed, Roman had shadowed Keaton throughout that day. Keaton's visit to the NYO was questionably short and random — what if he had intended to take Remi that day, but was stopped by Weller?

What else did Keaton do that day?

 _Think! In the morning he stopped at the CIA field office for most of the morning. He walked out in different clothes and took a round-about route to a small coffee shop — probably to speak to a source on another case. He had lunch. He met a foreign man just outside the city._

 _Then he had driven through the peripheries of Port Morris in the Bronx; he stopped at an empty building near an abandoned refinery plant… I had assumed he was meeting another source but now... It was a promising possibility._

Roman couldn't believe he was admitting it — but Kurt Weller seemed to genuinely care about his sister. If that was true, maybe she had found happiness in her new life… a life that didn't include him. It hurt. Remi/Jane barely remembered him now, their relationship had been chemically erased and their ties were tenuous at best... why should he help her?

 _Because… Maybe she was Jane now, but she is still my sister. I was a fool to think I could ever truly walk away. As much as I tell myself otherwise — I can't bring myself to sever all ties to Remi._

She was Remi and she was in danger. he couldn't abandon her to the FBI's dubious prowess; he didn't trust the FBI to do anything right. They had fallen short in the past — he couldn't trust his sister's fate to their hands. No. He wouldn't leave her to be tortured — not when she had always done so much to protect him. After that… who knows…

Roman paced to the corner of the small way-station where he had taken cover. Pulling up the floorboards, Roman eyed the weapons below. A man on a mission needed supplies. With a smile, he loaded several guns with ammo and secreted a few knives…

Time to go hunting…

…

* * *

...

Jane retched painfully, the heaves bringing up rancid water water mixed with vomit. She barely had a chance to breathe before her head was plunged back into the icy pool of water. She fought her body's reflex to gasp for breathe at the bitter sting.

Mind over matter.

Her lungs were burning — she could feel the water's heavy residue in her throat and stomach. Dark spots were clouding her vision and everything in her being was screaming for air.

Just as she was about to pass out, Jane felt a painful grip yanking her head up by the hair. Greedily she gasped for oxygen and urgently choked on the remains of the water. She could still feel its congealing presence, heavy in her lungs.

Keaton didn't wait for her to reacclimatize. He was already reattaching her cuffed hands to a hook to be cranked off of her feet.

As much as Jane wished she could say that her body had snapped immediately back into survival mode, it would be a lie. The safe place she had so carefully constructed in those dark months was beyond reach. She tried to calm her mind to move beyond the pain— to escape the confines of the torture so that she could plan an escape, but she kept jolting back to reality.

There was an urgency to Keaton's efforts that added a sense of fanaticism to his decisions. Before, he exuded a relaxed enjoyment in her torture — like he had all the time in the world to wait her out until she cracked. Now, Keaton's tactics were erratic, as if he was trying to keep her guessing… or he was on a short timeline… or not thinking clearly.

Keaton's men had beaten her before he attempted the drowning; Jane knew her torso and legs bore bruising. Now, swinging from her wrists once more, Jane closed her eyes and briefly ran through what she knew of her surroundings. It wasn't much.

"No sleeping allowed, Janie."

His hand cracked across her cheek. She worked her jaw, her ears ringing and she could taste blood in her mouth.

"Open your eyes!"

Jane's body jolted as she felt the burning sting of a cattle prod against her hip. Wearily she opened her eyes to meet the maddened gaze of her captor.

"Now, Jane. You know better than to expect that this will end before I get the answers I want. I will hurt you day in and day out — not enough to kill you — but enough to make you wish that you were dead."

He paused, waiting for a response but she refused to give it.

He jabbed her harshly, unrelentingly in the stomach with the prod and Jane's mouth opened in an unvoiced scream. All the muscles in her body strained taut as the electricity rampaged through her body.

"Now," he smiled conversationally, "I don't think that I'm asking too much from you, Jane. All I want to know is whether or not you met with someone from Sandstorm. I've seen Nas Kamal at the NYO — so you must be familiar with the codename."

 _It is so tempting to share with him what I know. I've already told the FBI — what would it hurt to tell the CIA too…_

 _And yet, I know better than anyone that Keaton is evil. At least with the FBI, I can trust Kurt to do the right thing. Who knew what Keaton would do with the information._

 _He wanted to know about Sandstorm— about Roman._ _I can't put Roman at risk. What if they followed him too? What if they got a visual of him and they track him down next. I won't let them hurt him like they've hurt me; I have to protect him._

 _I won't tell— I won't._

"Come come Jane. A name or description shouldn't be too hard for you…" he paused half-expecting her response, "No?… have it your way." He gesture shrewdly to the heavyset men in the background; they stepped forward cracking their knuckles ominously but Jane could barely hear it.

Silence had always been her greatest weapon against Keaton — but it had also been a state of mind that he had driven her to. He silenced not only her voice but her ability to fight back. In those dark days, Jane had retreated so far into her head until she was only a shadow herself, living like a flickering candle in the shell of her body.

Jane would never regret the measures she had to take to survive. Keeping body and soul together those four months had been a hard won victory. But this time, she wouldn't back down; she was going to get out of here. She wouldn't let him make her feel small.

Never again.

Snapping her head forward, Jane cracked her forehead viciously against Keaton's nose. Searing him with a dark stare she rasped, "I'm not telling you anything. Go to _hell_."

…

* * *

...

Hopefully you still have faith in me :)

I got a lot of satisfaction in that last scene, even if it is difficult to have Jane in Keaton's clutches again.

Look forward to ruthless Roman, resilient and kick ass Jane in the next chapter.

There was a taste of some Roman/Kurt interaction as promised. More is coming but we have to start with baby steps. You like?

As always, looking forward to your impressions.

* * *

OMG tonight's episode was amazing; I loved it so much. I'm going to avoid spoilers but… The sibling moments were perfect, Kurt/Jane friendship, and that moment near the end that we've all been waiting for (finally)


	21. A Rescue

**NOTE:** I'm already looking to the future. Look below for an important question about what you would like to read next…

* * *

A nice long chapter for you all

Warning: some violence and character death ahead

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...

Chapter 21

A Rescue

...

"Weller, I've heard back from my contacts in the CIA and NSA," Nas' voice carried into the busy fray of the bullpen bringing the interested team to a halt.

"And…" Zapata prodded.

"My contact in the CIA was unwilling to give any definitive information about Keaton's directive but when I discussed what had happened there was a conveyed level of surprise. I don't think Keaton's actions were cleared by his superiors. I will be surprised if Keaton doesn't get some backlash for going rogue."

"Did they give you anything we can use to find Jane?"

"Utilizing data from NSA resources, as well as a confidante in the CIA office, I've compiled three locations in New York that are owned and used by the CIA for… 'private affairs.'"

"That's good," Reade burst out in relief. Finally something they could work with. "Where?"

"One in Huntington, one in Queens and one in the Bronx — all in industrial or secluded areas." Nas pinpointed the addresses on the computer screen.

They surrounded the map, scrutinizing it carefully. The one in Huntington was the furthest out — the most private. The one in the Bronx was near an abandoned refinery plant and in a rough neighbourhood. The one in Queens was the closest to the parking structure where they had last seen Keaton.

Kurt took command of the situation immediately. "Alright. Zapata, Reade— we're each going to lead a team at one of these locations. Zapata, you take a few agents and go to the Huntington location. Reade, you will rendezvous with the team already at the parking structure and take the Queen's location. I will take the Bronx."

He met everyone's eye in turn. They all knew how important this was; there was no room for mistakes. "Be thorough and be safe. Everyone suit up, we will go over tactical approaches with Patterson en route."

…

The team hurriedly bolted for the locker room to arm themselves to go out into the field. Kurt paused in his office. Before he could think twice, he quickly dialled his phone to reach out to Roman. It felt fair to update him on the situation.

It rang repeatedly… no answer.

He tried again without any luck.

Kurt eyed the clock, anxious to be on his way. He was just debating whether or not to call Roman in the SUV— when his cell rang. Unknown number.

"Hel—"

"— Stop calling me."

"Do you want to be kept in the loop or not? We got some new intel. Contacts in the CIA and NSA gave a few potential addresses that Keaton might be using. Huntington, Queens and the Bronx — you want to cooperate?"

Roman let out a huff of laughter through his nose. "I guess you guys aren't as helpless as I thought. I'm already tracking a location in the Bronx, by the water, I followed Keaton to this area a few weeks ago."

Kurt blew past his frustrated that Roman never shared this information earlier; his gut was telling him that this couldn't be a coincidence. "Where in the Bronx? Is it in Port Morris?"

Roman didn't answer for several long seconds, "Yes." He seemed to debate giving more information. "I'm closing in on the location now."

"Wait! Roman, wait for backup — we are on our way."

This time Roman laughed out loud, "I don't need your help, G-man. But if you're hoping for a piece of Keaton— you better hurry." He hung up and Kurt was left with the dial tone.

"Damn it." Kurt cursed as he bolted out the door. "Change of plans; Reade, Zapata you are both coming with me." Grabbing his phone he relayed the adjustment to the other teams; they would still check the other two locations to be sure but he knew— he _knew_ — that Keaton was at Port Morris.

Kurt didn't know what was going to happen, but he only wanted _his_ team with him when it went down.

…

* * *

...

Keaton hadn't taken too kindly to Jane breaking his nose.

Swinging fists tossed her body like a rag doll and yet each strike hurt less and less as Jane allowed her mind to rise above the pain until it became a dream. As the harrowing blows fell into the background, escape moved to the foremost of her mind.

 _It would have to be sooner rather than later — Keaton was acting too impulsively. Every minute in this hole weakens my resistance and physical strength. Every hour solidified his hold._

Jane's hands had grown increasingly numb but she subtly flexed and twisted her hands to loosen the bindings on her wrists. Keaton had made a mistake by using rope instead of plastic strips or handcuffs. Water from the drownings had made the rope slightly more pliable, enough that she was able to work at it. It chafed and cut her skin like hell, but that was nothing compared to what she was facing at Keaton's hands.

This building was well chosen, but Keaton and his men had not taken the time to organize the space. If she could get free, there were piles of junk in the corners where she could see potential weapons. But her surest bet was to escape out the lone, blackened window facing the waterfront. If she could jump into the murky waters — she knew she would evade Keaton and his men easily.

Jane conjured up familiar faces and memories to strengthen her resolve and keep her mind focused on anything but the endless questions spitting from Keaton's mouth. In the harsh electric light, his face was ghoulish and his eyes possessed. She preferred to look through him instead of at him.

Jane's heart flew far away from this dark place. Her mind was flooded with conversations with Reade and Zapata's dirty jokes. She relived silly chatter with Patterson and drunken pizza nights with the team. She let her heart warm with the memories of Kurt's lips against hers and soft whispers of 'I love you.'

 _I have a life to live_

She had a brother who had just returned to her life. The thought of Roman had sent his voice ringing through Jane's ears — his training and a memory of them fighting side by side. It was enough to keep her grounded in what was important. She had to make it out of here to save him.

 _My family is waiting for me_

Jane armoured herself with the knowledge that she was capable of getting through this. She was a survivor. She was better than Keaton.

After what felt like hours, Jane felt the rope give enough to slide her right thumb past the knot. Hiding her triumph, Jane pulled the rest of her right hand from binding. She masked the move by jerking back harshly from a harsh blow to her belly. In an effort to maintain her prone pose, Jane gripped the hook and continued to dangle, seemingly helpless, from above.

Keaton reacted to her faked show of agony, "Finally had enough, Jane? I think it's time for some electric current to loosen your tongue."

Jane gathered her momentum; she lifted her head slowly and met his sick grin with a dark smile, "I'm afraid I'm done for today."

Dropping from the rope she tackled Keaton to the ground and stunned him with a blow to the head. The two henchmen came at her from opposite sides. Ignoring the throbbing ache from her ribs, Jane moved forward aggressively to attack.

She couldn't let them pin her down. Running on adrenaline, Jane let her instincts and muscle memory take over.

Jane was about to go for an uppercut when a gunshot pierced the silent night with a deafening boom — the agent she was aiming for dropped to the floor. Jane looked down to see blood tricking from the forehead of her, now dead, assailant.

Another gunshot resounded and Jane heard a grunt and then the solid thump of the second henchman dropping to the cement. Jane turned slowly to face the door bracing herself for a new enemy.

Seconds stretched in the ominous silence as a dark silhouette hovered in the doorframe. Jane met the unknown figure grimly before the light cast a glow upon a familiar and welcome face, "I guess you got the party started without me, sis."

"Roman." her face broke into a disbelieving, grateful smile.

 _I can't believe he came looking — I thought he had given up on me. How did he get here so quickly? How did he know?_

Jane moved forward to greet her brother with open arms but was stopped short when she felt a sharp grip snag her leg. Keaton's hand was grasping her ankle. She kicked back to dislodge him but he caught her foot and bashed his fist against the back of her supporting knee.

Her knee bent reflexively, collapsing her leg, and her body lurched. She couldn't correct her balance in time and her body toppled backwards, colliding into a wooden crate with a sickening thunk.

Then everything went black.

…

* * *

...

The neighbourhood was deserted except for a few homeless men and some stray animals — no threats. The air was cool coming off the water, but foul smelling and mixed with the refuse from the street.

Roman scouted the building he had seen Keaton enter all those weeks ago. It appeared abandoned, but he knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. The intel from Weller only solidified his belief that this was the most viable location.

Cautiously he tested a side door with his gloved hand. The flimsy lock was easy enough to manage. The building was large and decayed, but the walls were thick enough to deafen the sins perpetrated within.

Graffiti, discarded needles and beer bottles suggested that the area was occasionally used by teenagers or the homeless— though Roman didn't see evidence of recent habitants. Absentmindedly, he wondered if the CIA ran them off every now and then to keep the building empty… but he focused his mind on more important matters.

Straining his senses, Roman squinted into the dark corners of the room and searched the silence for signs of life. In the background he could hear the calm lapping of the water nearby and — what was that? Voices?

Following the sounds, Roman moved from room to room until he sounds became distinctive. The mocking voice of AD Keaton and the familiar sound of flesh beating flesh. Roman had been through so many traumatic and barbaric "training exercises" with his sister growing up; he told himself that he shouldn't be affected by anything.

And yet, even though he had steeled his heart to feel nothing, when Roman peered into the lighted room and saw her dangling there, her body being beaten without remorse, blinding rage swept over him like a crashing wave.

It didn't matter that Jane wasn't Remi.

It didn't matter that she had handled worse than this.

All he saw was his sister — his protective, fierce, loving sister — being hurt… by Keaton.

His fingers tightened around the trigger of his gun and he silently stepped from the shadows to exact his vengeance. Roman lifted the gun and aimed… only to see Jane's hand slowly slip from it's bond.

He paused only seconds — and witnessed Jane manoeuvre herself into position and then take Keaton to the ground. He shook his head in wry disbelief.

 _My sister always did like to take matters in her own hands. So typical of her to rescue her own damn self._

 _Well, I'm not going to let her have all the fun; these bastards deserve pain._

Without blinking, Roman easily shot out the flanking CIA guards that had moved in on Jane's sides. Jane paused, staring at the fallen henchmen in confusion and whirled around to meet the unknown. Roman emerged from the doorway, grinning at Jane's surprised expression. It felt like old times — the two of them, together against the world.

And then the rug got pulled out from under them.

It happened in slow motion. Jane was coming towards Roman with a tired smile and then Keaton got a hold of her leg. He trapped one foot and knocked out the other causing her to fall — her arms flailing uselessly. The sound when her body hit that crate was so loud in the silence. She hit her head and hit the ground… and she just… lay there.

His sister, crumpled like a broken toy.

Time stopped.

Roman's stunned silence was broken by Keaton's wheezing chuckle.

Ice filled Roman's veins and murderous intent froze his heart. Only one thought centred in his mind — one task that his brain and body undertook with ease and razor-sharp focus. Make that son of a bitch pay.

The CIA Assistant Director was attempting to scramble to his feet and reach for a gun. Roman walked forward coolly, snapped back his leg and kicked Keaton savagely in the face. The sound of teeth and blood hitting the floor were like music to his ears. He cold cocked Keaton on the head with his gun — it wouldn't do to end the fun too early.

…

With Keaton subdued, Roman hurried to his sister's side. He almost wept in relief — she was still breathing. The head wound was small — bleeding but small — her pupils were equal and reactive. Her eyes already fluttering as she returned to consciousness. _A good sign._

"Jane, wake up Jane." Roman softly tapped her cheek, taking care not to jostle her body.

Her eyes squinted and she groaned, "Roman?" Her voice came out thin and confused which only enraged Roman further. Remi always hated any appearance of weakness.

"You're safe. Stay still, I'm going to take care of business and then we'll get you home."

Roman made busy work of tying Keaton securely to a sturdy chair. Shepherd always taught him to clean up his messes. If you have to leave a body, make sure there's no trace that leads back to yourself. After all, the FBI was on its way.

The two dead bodies were conveniently out of the way. Roman needed them to stay where they lay in order to preserve the scene. As much as he preferred to dispose of their bodies — he couldn't take the risk that the blame would fall back on his sister since she was the last to see Keaton and his men alive.

This way, there would be no question that the two CIA agents were shot from an unknown gun from the direction of the doorway. His sister would only have only minor traces of gun shot residue and her head wound as plausible deniability for haziness in her recollection of events. If he had to, he could tie her up again to set the scene.

Roman turned to find Keaton slowly awakening. He surveyed the room and picked up the cattle prod, a metal pipe and a lighter. _It was a start._

Keaton's eyes widened as he grasped the situation, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Roman ignored him and added rags and a gallon of water to his collection of supplies. Eying a container of bleach tucked in the corner, he snagged it for later.

Keaton struggled to remain composed, "I don't know what you think you know, but I am the Assistant Director of the CIA. It was my job to interrogate that woman — you are making a huge mistake."

Roman turned to him emotionlessly, "I know exactly who you are, Jake Keaton. You _were_ just doing your job and I'm just doing mine. That woman you were brutalizing, is my sister and it's my job to make you pay."

Starting with the pipe, Roman smiled cruelly and took aim.

 _Pay back's a bitch_

…

* * *

...

"Weller, what aren't you telling us?" Zapata demanded once the SUV was blazing through intersections. It was strange for Weller to change plans so rapidly. "What's changed?"

"I talked to Roman."

"You WHAT! How… when…?" she spluttered.

Kurt smoothly responded, "At Reade's suggestion, I realized he could be a valuable resource. I used Jane's contact number and gave him the intel we had. He told me that Keaton was at the Bronx location just weeks ago."

Tasha smacked Reade upside the head and glared at him for keeping her in the dark. "That's good though — that means we're probably going to find Jane there. Why didn't you say that before?"

Kurt pressed his lips together grimly, "Because, Roman is already there and I'm not too sure what we're going to walk into."

Reade gave her a loaded glance and they fell into a charged silence.

…

It felt like hours when they finally rolled through the dingy neighbourhood. Cracked windows and trash-strewn streets under the sporadic street lamps made it seem deserted. Following GPS they park half a block away from the abandoned building and spread out to find an entrance.

As a unit they filed through the still building. Moving at a rapid pace, it didn't take long for them to hear the screaming. When they first heard the ominous echoes, Kurt's first thoughts had immediately feared that it was Jane. However, the voice was masculine.

Regardless, they moved more cautiously as they closed in on the horrific howls.

When they finally found the origin of the noise — it was not pretty. Keaton was strapped to a chair streaked with his own blood and vomit. His clothes were soaked in water and yet his face showed evidence of burns. The orchestrator of Keaton's injuries was the familiar scarred man whose face filled Jane's sketchbooks.

Roman turned around as they entered, his hand reflexively reaching for his gun but he dropped his hand when he saw Weller. "About time you showed up. Did you not use the sirens?"

"Roman. Where's Jane?"

Roman's face bore faint approval at Kurt's concern, "She's alive but hurt. She's wrapped in a blanket in the corner. When I got here, she had almost escaped all on her own, until this jackass bashed her into a crate."

Kurt nodded to Reade and Zapata to keep their guns trained on the action while he split from the group to check on Jane. Under Roman's watchful eye, Kurt hurried to find Jane tucked behind a tipped table.

It was like the vice on his heart and lungs finally opened. He could breathe. She was alive. Pressing his palm against her chest his eyes burned with unshed tears as he felt the strong thrum of her heart beat. Pushing the curls away from her face his lips curled back in anger at the bruises that curled around her neck and bloomed up the side of her cheek. Pulling back the blanket his hands began to shake with rage at her soaked clothing and welted skin.

Her eyelashes fluttered at his careful touch. "You gotta wake up, Sweetheart, Roman said you hit your head."

Jane blinked groggily, until her eyes recognized Kurt's face looming above her own. "You're here… am I dreaming?"

Kurt clasped her hands tightly around her own, squeezing hard despite the defensive wounds. "I'm real. We're going to take you home."

Startling to awareness of her surroundings and the reality of Kurt's presence, Jane eyes alert with adrenaline. "What happened? Are Roman and Keaton still here?"

"Not for long"

 _Keaton was a dead man._

Kurt worried about her concussion and other injuries— they needed to end this quickly and get some medical support. When Kurt rejoined his team — Zapata and Reade both shifted back at the waves of anger coming off of their leader. They wanted to ask after their friend, but realized now was not the time. Besides, judging by Weller's reaction, Jane must be pretty beat up. Instead they hardened their hearts against the imprisoned man before them.

Keaton had roused to consciousness and was observing Kurt with apparent relief. "Weller, thank God you're here. You have to help me; this man is a lunatic! Shoot him!"

Kurt ignored his plea dispassionately, "What are you doing here, Keaton?"

Even under such painful circumstances, the man lied well. "I was doing my job, Weller. You know how it is."

He was trying to weasel out of his sins. Kurt's eyes flashed over the quivering man with cutting sharpness, "That's a lie. The CIA never gave you a directive to take Jane. _Try again_."

Keaton's face twisted into an ugly sneer made worse by the burns, "Always by the book, Weller. You never understood the dirty decisions that protect this country. Jane had valuable intel — intel I spent months trying to extract — and she shared it with _the FBI_. I wasn't going to wait and beg the FBI for crumbs on a case I spent a year trying to put together. My boss thinks I'm inept, all because I couldn't break _a woman_. I wasn't going to let her beat me… one way or another that bitch was going to squeal."

Kurt barely kept it together through Keaton's disturbed rant. He was unhinged. The muscle in Kurt's cheek flexed repeatedly as he clenched his jaw to stay in control. "You lost, Keaton. You are never going to see Jane again."

Maniacal laughter gurgled from Keaton's throat, "You can't protect her from me, Weller. Jane and I will always have unfinished business. You can't be by her side every second of the day, eventually your vigilance will lapse. Besides, I think she enjoys my company — you should have heard her scream."

Kurt's control snapped. Striding forward he slammed his fist into Keaton's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Each time his fists found home in Keaton's face, Kurt only saw Jane's bruised skin and battered body. _Vengeance._

Eventually, Reade pulled him away.

Keaton wouldn't go down without a fight, he spat out, "What are you really going to do, Weller? You can't kill me— I'm the Assistant Director of the CIA."

Kurt was torn. He ached to kill this man was a menace to society — deranged and holding real power to do damage. Keaton showed no mercy— tortured Jane cruelly for four months and stole her away with the intention of doing it again. He was never going to leave her alone. She would always be looking over her shoulder.

 _A man would do anything to protect his family._

But… backup would be here soon. The whole NYO was aware of the situation — they knew Keaton had Jane and they knew the address… He had to think.

Roman's cold voice startled everyone, "You're a liability, Keaton. They might not be able to kill you, but I can."

Roman pressed his gun against Keaton's head and pulled the trigger. A shot echoed loudly in the dim room.

…

* * *

I tried to keep the gruesome parts not too gruesome.

Once again, please don't hate me. This chapter was getting long and I wanted to post something rather than keep you all waiting.

Really, **REALLY** excited to hear your thoughts on this.

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This fic has been so much fun — but there are only a few chapters left… unless you guys have an idea to extend it somehow... or a sequel?

 **Question**

Looking ahead for the next fic — what genre would you like most

a) Drama/Action

b) Angst

c) Romance

Of course, to be honest, a single fic will have all of these elements — but which one excites you the most as an overarching theme. I have a few ideas for each category so this will help narrow it down.


	22. A Cover up

You guys keep me motivated. You come up with great ideas and make me consider all kinds of aspects of my story. Seriously your comments and insights are AWESOME!

I appreciate your preferences for my next story — so far the responses have been pretty even keel. If you have any strong feelings let me know.

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I was so bummed to find out there was no new blindspot episode this week :( … I went to my go to favourite 1x09, what is your go to episode?

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Chapter 22

Cover-up

...

In the wake of the gunshot, nobody moved.

Paralyzed, they watched the blood and gore drip into a congealed puddle beneath the chair that restrained Keaton's dead body.

Leaning on the wall for support, Jane stumbled to an upright position. Peering wide-eyed at the gruesome scene, she took in the sight of her bloody captor. "Roman, what did you do?" The question was rhetorical, it was obvious what he had done.

Roman brushed off the act casually as he slid his gun into the back of his jeans, "I protected us. I did what had to be done."

They didn't have time to lapse into silence; walking over to Jane, Weller side stepped the body and took her hand. He was the leader — his next words would carry weight. He didn't mince words; he made it clear that Roman had his support, "Keaton was never going to quit. He was a danger to Jane and her brother. Roman eliminated the threat."

Staring at Keaton's prone form, Reade asked the unspoken necessary question. "We all hated the guy, but— what exactly is the plan here? You do realize that Roman just killed the Assistant Director of the CIA and we're all witnesses."

Pressing her hand to Reade's shoulder, Zapata bone-white face nodded solemnly to Roman and Weller. She turned Reade around and placed her hands firmly on the sides of his jaw. Tasha stated definitively,"We're going to protect our own."

"Zapata!… " Reade started to protest.

Fisting Reade's shirt tightly, Tasha pulled him closer to her level and stared fervidly into his eyes. "Keaton was an evil man. Jane is family— we're not going to let her brother go down for this. We would do it for her."

Her eyes communicated the implied meaning behind her words. For weeks Tasha had helped Reade manipulate Jones' murder case, even when all the evidence suggested that her best friend was a cold-blooded murderer. They broke half a dozen laws in order to keep Reade's name clean. And she didn't regret a single one — even in the beginning, when she wondered if her friend had killed Jones.

 _Family protects family, no matter what._

Roman watched the small drama with suppressed surprise. It shocked him that this FBI team cared enough about his sister to not only condone the death of a CIA director, but that they would help cover up his own part in the crime. He wasn't anything to them — they had no reason to care about or trust him… no reason except Jane.

Time was of the essence, Roman snapped out of his thoughts and commanded the room. If they were willing, then he had a plan to orchestrate. "Here's what's going to happen. You are going to call for backup — tell them that you found Jane knocked out and Keaton was already dead. There is nothing to tie you to the scene… your guns are fully loaded, no injuries, minimal gun shot residue, no blo—.

Keaton pursed his lips at Kurt's bruised knuckles. "Weller you are going to lightly rub some bleach on your knuckles and give me your jacket — you punched him and may have collected blood-spray. Once your hands are clean, punch the wall until they're raw; you will say that you got violently angry because of Jane's injuries."

Lending her brother support, Jane nodded and elaborated on the fabrication, "I got hit hard on the head. I have a blurry recollection of a dark figure shooting but I can't remember anything else until Weller and the team found me."

"What about evidence of Roman or Kurt on the body?" Tasha questioned.

"I wore gloves and avoided using my fists — but it never hurts to be cautious." Roman picked up the bottle of bleach and dumped half of it on and around Keaton's head and torso to compromise any DNA left behind.

"Why don't we just dump the bodies in the river— then we wouldn't have to worry about evidence?" Reade pressed.

Roman rolled his eyes, "Because your entire office knows that my sister was the last one to see Keaton and his men alive. They will be presumed dead and eventually their bodies will surface; she will be blamed as the most likely suspect. Not going to happen. Now get to it, we can't wait any longer or it will look suspicious."

Kurt unzipped his jacket, gave it to Roman, cleaned his hands and called for back-up.

When reinforcements arrived, the scene was set and Roman had disappeared into the night.

…

* * *

...

Kurt sat on the back of the ambulance with Jane tucked in his side. She was dressed in blue scrubs that, although cleaner and drier than the grimy jumpsuit, were hardly warm enough. When her thin bodied shivered, Kurt wrapped the blanket more firmly around her pulled her even closer.

Her breathe against his cheek and the solid feeling of her hand resting in his own were tangible reminders that she was near and safe. Even with the knowledge that she was alive, Kurt could smell the coppery scent of dried blood on her skin and hear the small sounds of discomfort she moved.

 _She was damaged — again. Injured — again._

 _And… forever out of Keaton's grasp_

Kurt wondered if he would take a single moment with her for granted ever again. It was unnatural for someone to overcome death so many times — Jane seemed to be a magnet for trouble. It made him determined to be more vigilant than ever. More intent on speeding up their mission against Sandstorm to remove the last threat to Jane's life. If anyone had earned a happily ever after, it was Jane.

The scene around him was busy with analysts crawling over the scene. It had all been a blur once backup arrived.

Weller was the AD of the FBI and his team held bureau-wide acclaim for their excellent service. Their story wasn't questioned with any real suspicion. The whole team maintained a grim sense of sadness for the loss of life and willingly answered questions. They surrendered their guns and allowed techs to test their hands for gunshot residue.

Jane was taken immediately for medical care and given a change of clothing so that her tattered jumpsuit could be admitted for evidence.

The scene was photographed and careful stock was taken of the arrangement of the bodies. The technicians found exactly what Roman said that they would. The team's story matched the scene and was corroborated by Jane's hazy testimony and the evidence.

Everyone's guns were fully loaded and showed no evidence of recent firing. The bullets in the victims didn't match any guns registered in their names or found on their person. Their clothing and hands were relatively clean with trace evidence explainable by their proximity to the victims when they checked for life.

Kurt's bloody knuckles raised a few eyebrows until he sheepishly pointed to the damaged wall that had taken the brunt of his violence; he explained away the bleach smell by acknowledging that he had checked Keaton's pulse upon arrival.

Under Kurt's glowering disapproval, Jane gave a brief testimony of what she could "remember" while medics fussed and checked her over. Jane's body and clothing bore witness to her suffering and the medics ascertained that she was likely the victim of a moderate concussion amongst her host of injuries. Drops of Keaton's blood on her clothing were explained by his nose break and she, like the rest of the team, had only minor gunshot residue.

…

It would only be a matter of time before the CIA descended on the scene. Keaton was their man and this building was a dirty secret not intended for public consumption; who knew what other evidence could be found in such a place. Kurt had no doubt that anything collected would disappear swiftly and silently into a dusty evidence building.

Cynically, Kurt wondered how seriously Keaton's death would be investigated. He was an Assistant Director of the CIA, so naturally it should draw attention. And yet, Keaton's actions at the time of his death were sure to be of some embarrassment to his agency. Just think of the public discomfort in having to explain why the AD of the CIA was acting outside the law and torturing an amnesiac in an abandoned building… Scandal and media fodder.

The CIA would probably press to have the murder investigated internally and brush it under the rug. Keaton was part of cases that involved dangerous men capable of great violence. There were theoretically countless suspects who could have been behind the hit — plenty of people to pin the blame on.

It shocked Kurt, how easily he accepted and participated in this turn of events. He had always seen the world in black and white — following the law to the letter and believing firmly in the justice system and the bureau. He had railed against Mayfair when she used illegal gained intelligence to arrest criminals.

And yet… he was helping to cover up a crime where a terrorist murdered the Assistant Director of the CIA.

In this case, Kurt rationalized that he had been forced to choose between two wrongs. Either he let Keaton — an unstable and malicious man with political power and sway — free into the world where he posed not only Jane, but anyone that crossed his path in the future, great danger. Or he let a vigilante — willing to commit murder and acting outside of the law to protect his sister — get away with homicide.

In the end, Kurt went with the less terrible option. His heart and his gut told him that he had made the right decision. It had to be enough because he would have to live with it.

Kurt was pulled out of his musings by a harsh intake of breathe as Jane shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat of the ambulance. She had fought to stay on the scene to give her testimony, no doubt out of an obligation to ensure everything went according to Roman's plan.

He couldn't indulge her any further, "Jane, we have to take you for a more thorough exam and see about your concussion. Do you want to go to the hospital or to the medical clinic at the NYO?"

Jane tightened her grip around him, "He only had me for a few hours. It's looks worse than it is… I don't want to be poked and prodded by doctors, I just want to go home."

Wide and vulnerable, her green eyes pleaded with him and tugged at his heart strings like a practiced virtuoso. But Kurt cared about her too much to let her injuries go untreated; he would be as pushy as necessary to see that she got the proper care. He shook his head obstinately, "Hospital or NYO."

Jane sighed and narrowed her eyes at him, "Hospital."

Kurt informed the EMT's and briefed the team lead that he would be riding in the ambulance with Jane. Zapata and Reade opted to stay a little while longer to watch over the scene before they would meet them back at the hospital.

…

* * *

...

For Jane the world felt surreal. In her wildest dreams she never imagined the last few hours would have occurred, it felt like someone else's life. Then again, no one else's life would be as bizarre and tumultuous as her own.

Jane had argued that she wanted to stay and give her testimony. But what she really wanted was to observe and ensure that the scene was interpreted as Roman intended — she needed to know that no one she cared about would receive reprisals for rescuing her… or for covering for her brother.

The EMT's had argued and Kurt had stormed and glowered with endearing bluster but she was resolved. Jane had lived with far worse for months, compared to that, this was easy to tolerate.

The EMT's had insisted she get scanned for internal injuries and concussion as soon as possible while they tended the bloody lacerations on her wrists and arms. Kurt had stood over the proceedings with stern and intimidating interest that made the EMT's nervous. When one medic made her wince in pain, Kurt growled a threatening expletive that made the poor man stutter an apology and drip sweat.

The throbbing in her head made it difficult to relax. She watched the technicians devour the scene through blurry eyes. She and Kurt both expected for the CIA to arrive and take over — Keaton was their man… and this building was their shame. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to stay awake even as her body demanded rest. Moving hurt far more than she cared to admit.

Despite the ache in her ribs and the pressure it put on her sore body, Jane hugged Kurt close. He was warm and real and safe. She was afraid that she would wake up to find herself hanging on that hook or broken on the concrete floor. She used Kurt as an anchor to reassure her that she was awake and alive and had survived.

Jane knew that she should feel relieved that Keaton was dead, but the weight wasn't lifted. It didn't feel real yet.

When Kurt asked whether she wanted to go to the hospital or back to the FBI building Jane balked. As soon as the doctors exposed her injuries and tended them, she would have to deal with them all over again. Once she allowed her mind to process the last few hours, she would have to accept and relive them.

She wasn't naive enough to believe that things would be simple now that Keaton was gone. Recapture and torture at his hands brought up so many unresolved issues of those long months. She tried to be positive; at least this time, she had the knowledge that her family and friends hadn't abandoned her or hated her, but actively tried and succeeded in finding her. And this time she wasn't plagued by months of carefully cultivated self-loathing.

She had stood nose to nose with the devil and had managed to keep fighting. Jane had proved her own strength and she wouldn't let Keaton have the last laugh in her life.

When Kurt pressed for a decision, she knew he would force the issue — he was always too overprotective over those under his responsibility. It sometimes made her wonder if he would care about her as much if she wasn't so damaged.

She chose the hospital, which she knew was a surprise given her distaste for them. She had every hope that Roman would find a way to visit her and it would be easier for him to access the hospital than the NYO. Plus, once she was back in the NYO, Kurt might never let her out again. Better to get a few hours of freedom before she was cosseted and cocooned within the FBI.

Come to think of it, with Keaton out of the picture and with Sandstorm unaware of her return (at least according to Roman), perhaps she could finally reclaim her safe house…

…

* * *

...

Jane was stuck in the hospital for at least 24 hours of observation. She huffed in dismay at the hovering nurses and, what felt like, endless tests. She was _not_ a pincushion nor should she be treated as such.

The IV blissed her out on pain medication. It made her lethargic but she appreciated the reprieve. She hated being confined to a bed, but it was apparently something she would have to learn to appreciate.

The neurological testing as well as a CT had proven a moderate concussion that required overnight care and weeks of recovery. The most immediate concern was Jane's torso. The beatings had broken a few ribs and bruised her liver and spleen. Testing and observation showed that her body was managing fine on its own for now — but the doctors wanted to keep her under strict supervision to monitor the internal bleeding. Her abrasions, lacerations and strained muscles were tended with bandaging, stitches and ice.

The promise of weeks of recovery was frustrating to say the least. Jane had just got herself back up to a moderate level of physical fitness and now she would only be allowed restricted physical activity. Painkillers tempered her stronger emotions of annoyance but she could feel them simmering below the surface.

Normally Jane would say 'screw it,' and follow her own schedule. But knowing that Kurt had be present for all of the doctor's results and lectures, she knew he would be unbearable if she pushed too hard too soon. If he had his way, she would be staying in the hospital for a week and in bed for a month.

"Hey, Jane. The nurses are going to find me a cot and Reade and Tasha are just leaving the scene — do you need them to bring you anything?"

Jane's ears perked at mention of the refinery, "Any more news?"

"Everything is as it should be. You have nothing to worry about." Kurt answered her question vaguely and analyzed the room for the best space for the cot — he wanted to be close by in case she needed him in the night.

Jane pushed aside her annoyance at his blasé attitude,"You don't have to spend the night here. It's been a long and terrible day for all of us; you won't get very much rest on a rickety old cot."

"Believe me, Jane, I need to be here. I won't get any rest at all unless I can open my eyes and see you safe and sound." The seriousness in Kurt's eyes belied the mild tone of his voice.

"Oh," she accused mildly, to keep the conversation lighthearted, "So this is for your benefit?"

"Most definitely," he wiggled his eyebrows rakishly and leaned in theatrically for kiss.

Kurt leaned back with a sigh, allowing the bubble to burst and reality to set in, "I'm going to step out and call Patterson. She's on her way with a bunch of your clothes, I'm going to ask her to swing by my place and pick up some things."

With a last lingering look, Kurt exited the room and pulled out his phone. As he made his way down the hallway he noticed a familiar face moving in the opposite direction towards Jane's room. Roman was dressed in hospital scrubs and holding a clipboard; he managed to blend in fairly well. Kurt gave him a spare nod which Roman returned; he would give him five minutes of privacy before returning to the room.

…

* * *

...

"I hoped you'd come," Jane's face cleared with relief when her brother entered the room and closed the door.

"How did it go after I left?" Roman grabbed her hospital chart from the end of the bed and flipped through it to glean the details. He couldn't help but snarl at the list of injuries and suggestion of prior, healed trauma. He should have used a knife instead of the gun.

"It went pretty much how you planned — we anticipate the CIA will come in and hush up everything pretty quickly anyway." Jane patted her bed to encourage him to sit down.

Roman laughed humourlessly, "Yeah, you can always count on government agencies to hide their mistakes."

Jane furrowed her brow, "We both know there are problems with the way things are — there _is_ corruption. But do you really believe that whatever Shepherd is planning will actually make things better… or will she just make a new kind of mess, killing a lot of people in the process."

Roman's face clouded over and he didn't answer. He had been questioning Shepherd's motives and wondered at her plans after burning their country from the inside out. She spoke passionately but lacked empathy — he hadn't truly noticed until Remi had been left for dead.

It left him unsure of where to turn. The only person he had ever been able to truly count on was his sister — she was the only one he had trusted.

Jane pressed on, "You have the knowledge and the skill to work from within the system to make the changes you want. _Think_ about it — we could make things better without killing so many people. We could work _together_."

Roman latched onto her words, "We _could_ work together; we could go— right now."

"Go? Where… why?"

"We could leave everything behind and strike out on our own. We always kept each other safe. We could start somewhere new and make a difference. It would be our choice; we could be free."

Jane's face crumpled at his earnest plea, "We can't leave, Roman. We have unfinished business and… I've made a life here. I want you to stay and be part of it."

"Part of the FBI?" he shook his head incredulously. "Can you really trust them, Jane, because I don't know if I do. They might just be using you as a means to an end against Shepherd. They helped with Keaton, I'll admit, but only after they let you get taken twice. They don't know you like I do and they never could. Come with me…"

Jane's eyes watered and she threw her arms around her brother. She squeezed as tight as she dared and wished she could make him understand. He was like one of the beaten puppies on the SPCA commercials — eyes full of hurt, not understanding that they deserved so much more than the hand they had been dealt.

"You're my brother, Roman, and you knew Remi better than anyone. But my team has helped me become the person I am now. I have gotten a fresh start and I want that for you too — you deserve a chance to escape the life we had. Please… stay and I will do whatever it takes to help you."

Roman's face fell. It was a stupid idea anyway. When he had thrown out that ridiculous scheme, he hadn't realized how much he had hoped she would actually say yes. He shouldn't have opened his mouth. Roman avoided the pitying look on her face by busying his hands.

Jane's words struck a chord but Roman didn't have the energy to debate the issue tonight. Grabbing her chart again he queried gruffly, "How long are they going to keep you here?"

Jane frowned at Roman's flimsy attempt to change the subject and gripped his hand tightly, "I'll let it go for now. But think about it; just know that I'll fight for you no matter what."

After that, they both avoided the elephant in the room. Jane briefly glossed over her diagnosis and bemoaned the necessity for a hospital stay. Roman chuckled and shared an amusing anecdote from a few years ago when she had gotten the flu and refused to stay in bed. Eventually she had collapsed and had paid for her stubbornness by being bed-ridden for 24 hours… Shepherd had been less than pleased, but Roman didn't mention that part.

Roman's eyes strayed to the clock and Jane sensed his need to leave. "I never really thanked you for what you did. Thank you, Roman." Her chin trembled and she blinked away her suspiciously glassy eyes. "We always protect each other, right?"

Roman's breath caught in his chest. Jane had unconsciously spoken the shared phrase they had used since childhood. _We always protect each other_. He needed to get out of there.

Roman stood and patted her hand. "I should go."

"I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah, I'll be in touch."

…

Closing the door, Roman almost ran headlong into Kurt who had been waiting patiently outside. Roman barely acknowledged the other man. He grunted, "Weller," and moved to continue on his way.

Kurt stopped him with a hand on his arm, "Roman, wait."

Roman swung around impatiently. "Make it quick."

Kurt stuck out his hand, letting it hover in the empty space between them, "I want to thank you for your help today. For… for _everything_ you did. Jane couldn't have asked for a better brother today."

Roman stared at the hand for a while before slowly clasping it with his own and shaking it. If someone had told him that one day he would be shaking Kurt Weller's hand out of grudging respect for the man, he would have called them a fool.

And yet here he was.

Weller wasn't the man he would have chosen for his sister — but he sure loved her a hell of a lot — and he seemed willing to do what it takes for family. In Roman's book that was enough not to kill the man on sight… which was saying a lot.

As he turned to leave, Kurt's voice travelled over his shoulder, "Don't be stranger."

When Roman left the hospital building he was left with more questions than answers. Kurt Weller and Jane's team weren't what he expected. He had killed the AD of the CIA, something Shepherd would not approve. His sister had changed and not necessarily for the worst. He had a lot to think about…

…

* * *

I am aware that I may have overlooked some crime scene details. All my knowledge comes from google and television. In my fantasy world it all works out this way without any issue — please pretend with me and forgive any flaws.

* * *

Do you guys have any strong feelings towards AU stories?

* * *

How do you see Roman and Kurt's relationship moving forward…

\- grudging respect but general avoidance of each other except when necessary?

\- Slow move towards friendship and cooperation with Jane as main factor in common?

\- Different idea?


	23. Shared Nightmares

You guys are awesome, sorry about the delay.

* * *

...

Chapter 23

Shared Nightmares

...

Weller gave Jane a few minutes after her brother's visit, before quietly returning to her room. He gauged her face to try and determine what kind of impression Roman had left behind. Her eyebrows knit in concentration and her teeth worried her lower lip; Jane barely acknowledged his presence.

Kurt was happy that Jane had found a real family connection… she had so many questions that he knew Roman would be able to answer. He only hoped that Roman wouldn't disappoint her.

Roman was her brother but he was also a violent and unpredictable. Despite Roman's help this day, it was hard to trust a man who killed so callously and was a key member in a virulent terrorist organization.

Kurt was trying to give the younger man the benefit of the doubt. Roman proved he would do what it takes to protect his sister, but would he stand by her against Shepherd? They would have to deal with it as it came.

"Good visit?"

Jane bobbed her head tiredly looking up beneath the fringe of her uneven curls, "Yeah, I'm glad I got to thank him for his help. He said he would contact me later. I really hope… " She broke off, she had so many hopes concerning Roman it was difficult to voice just one.

"I know, Jane. I hope so too."

Kurt settled into the chair next to the bed and leaned his elbow on the bed covers. They sat in companionable silence relishing the feeling of complete calm. It had been a day from hell, this quiet moment stood in such a stark contrast to the previous hours it would be almost laughable… except for the fact that they were in a hospital. A sobering thought to be sure.

"Kurt…"

"Hmm?" he stroked his fingers lazily along her arm, tracing her tattoos and circling around the bandages.

"When I'm released from the hospital, I want to go back to my safe house." She felt his finger freeze on her arm. "The NYO is an office — not a home. I need to start living my life without constant supervision."

After the day from hell that Kurt had just had… and staring at her so small and fragile in that hospital bed— the thought of Jane alone and unprotected sent his pulse through the roof. _No_. He didn't care if he was being overprotective or unreasonable or _whatever_ … just… no. _Hell no._

"Your safe house is occupied." Kurt's surprised a lightening bolt didn't smite him where he stood for the outrageous lie that tumbled out of his mouth.

"Occupied? Really…" her face dropped in dissatisfaction and the wheels in Jane's head started turning. "Well, I have been considering looking for my own apartment…"

"You don't want to be worrying about that. You're going to be in recovery for weeks. In the meantime, come live with me." Kurt cringed at how the words sounded come out of his mouth; so much for easing her into the idea.

Jane made a face, "Is that an invitation or a command?"

"Which one will make you say yes?"

She frowned at his highhandedness and struggled to articulate what she wanted, "I just… need some space to reclaim myself after all of this. These past months have been… I need to prove to myself that I am more than just my tattoos and more than just a victim. I want to stand on my own two feet."

Kurt understood that. It had been half a year of tumultuous terror — six months either under Keaton's "care" and FBI observation. And even before that, Jane was an amnesiac thrust into danger for almost a year. She had every right to demand some space — but, it just about _killed_ him to let her have it.

The bad guy was defeated, Kurt wanted to believe that Keaton's death would take all of the darkness in Jane's life with it. But he knew better than anyone that life didn't work like that. It would take time to get through this; all he could do was let her know that he would embark on that journey with her, at her side.

"I understand that, Jane. But you're injured. Be reasonable, even if you just stay with me for a few weeks until you're out of danger with your concussion and ribs and able to get around. After that, I will help you move into a safe house, if that's what you still want."

Jane scrunched up her nose. Kurt was going to be annoyingly overprotective and yet he could be so disarmingly charming when he wanted to be, that boyish grin and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Damn it. And the doctors would be on his side too. With a reluctant shrug Jane finally bowed to his logic…. for now.

Kurt smiled at her obvious annoyance. "I can't tell you that I won't nag you about taking better care of yourself or force you to go to all your check-ups. I'd wrap you in cotton wool if I could."

"What are you smiling at?"

"You look pretty when you're annoyed with me."

"Then I must be gorgeous right now," Jane snorted sarcastically; she was all too aware of how hideous she actually looked under her bruises and stitches.

"That you are." Kurt ignored her scoff and responded with a warm sincerity that made Jane blush when she caught his stare.

…

* * *

...

Jane woke up with a strangled scream. Her eyes frantically darting through the darkness in search of her own personal boogey man.

Her ribs felt heavy on her chest making it difficult to breathe. _Oh_ they throbbed. Judging by the way her sheets were twisted around her limbs, Jane's sleep had been anything but restful. Sweat plastered her pyjamas to her body. She felt wrung out like a dirty dishrag and assumed she didn't look much better.

Jane beat her fists against the bed in quiet rage. _Three nights in a row!_

She was tired of not being in control of her own body. She was tired of frailty and prescribed bed rest; it made her feel weak when she yearned to be strong. But how do you build yourself up when you're broken and tired? And how do you defeat someone who is already dead?

Every night, these last three nights, Jane relived that day. The spike of fear when she was attacked… the inability to escape… the nausea and resignation when she recognized Keaton's voice… the burning choke of the water… the sharp stab of fists against her body…

 _Why do I keep coming back to it. I thought these feelings would stop. He's dead; he can't hurt me anymore — why can't it just end._

 _I hate that it still has so much control over my life and my thoughts. I hate that I can't combat my memories. It's like he's able to torture me from beyond the grave._

The room was stifling. It was Sarah's old room and had the the tidy charm of a guest room. She felt clumsy in it, always afraid of knocking something out of place. It made her feel like an intruder.

Kurt's apartment was _his_ home; the personal touches, mess and knick knacks that he had collected over the years. Jane was afraid to touch anything — afraid to get comfortable. He urged her to make herself at home, but she felt his eyes on her all the time. She knew he was trying to look out for her and be helpful — but it made her self-conscious.

Kurt knew about her nightmares. He didn't press her to share a bed, but he had offered to sleep on a futon nearby in case she needed him. It was sweet and kind and so… Kurt — but she had awkwardly turned down his offer.

As much as Jane appreciated Kurt's support — she needed to learn to get through this on her own. The need to be independent had been thrust on her pretty quickly since coming out of that bag in Times Square; it had been ground into her by every experience since, and cruelly finalized by her time with Keaton. It was dangerous to rely on other people too much, no matter how kind they seemed.

You had to be able to survive on your own.

Her new everyday was strange, full of hidden currents and nuances, with bouts of intense joy and sudden sharp spikes in anxiety and isolation. Reality had become a kaleidoscope that kept breaking up and re-forming. At times the pressure was overwhelming; like dead weight on her body that made it difficult to move or think.

Jane truly cared about Kurt and she wanted to believe in the love that he expressed, but she didn't understand sometimes, how it could exist. She looked at her bandaged arms and bruised face; she felt repugnant and damaged. They hadn't even gone on a date and he already knew her darkest histories and had read the ugliness written on her body.

 _Who would want to date a woman with so much baggage?_

 _Who would want to sleep with a woman who screamed bloody murder every night?_

 _What if he realizes I'm so much more trouble than I'm worth…_

Jane felt like she needed to meet him as an equal or she would never have his respect.

Calming her breathing to relax her rib cage, Jane slowly shifted her body out of bed and padded quietly into the kitchen to get a cold drink of water. Her body ached in agony but she was adamant that she wasn't going to take anymore painkillers tonight. She was going to tough it out; she didn't want to get attached to them.

Shuffling footsteps caught her attention. Kurt blearily rubbed his scruffy face and stretched his arms out to the side. Jane's gaze tracked the movement of his hands and traced the path down his arms through to his naked chest. Kurt caught her staring and her cheeks warmed but she met his eyes with a cheeky smile.

"Just take the painkillers, Jane,"

"How did you—…. Never mind, I don't want them." Jane turned her back to Kurt and busied herself with rinsing the glass so that she wouldn't have to face his disapproval. "I'm really fine—" she barely heard him stalk up behind her. When Jane turned she all but bumped into him, then backed hard against the counter.

Kurt didn't give her room; he figured he's already given her plenty. He simply laid his palms on the counter on either side of her. Caged her in. He saw her awareness of the move in her eyes… the wariness. Leaning into her space carefully, his crooked smile didn't intimidate but he made sure that had her full attention. "I know you don't want them, but you need them — at least for now. It's important to manage the pain so that you can breathe and rest as naturally as possible to prevent complications."

"Half," Jane countered, clenching her jaw.

"Half now," he conceded, pressing his forehead against her own, "But the full recommended amount on your next dose."

"Emotional blackmail isn't fair — you're better at it than I am." Jane sighed and dropped her head against his shoulder. She was so tired and he was so tempting — it made it hard to stay strong. _Maybe just for now…_

Kurt ran his hand through her hair and dropped the other gently onto her cheek, "Oh, you're better than you think." He lifted her face up to meet his own and cradled her face carefully in his palms as he brushed a kiss against her lips.

…

* * *

...

 _2 days later_

Five days and five long nights and Kurt didn't know what to do.

Jane was struggling with nightmares, there was no doubt and she didn't try to hide it. But she refused to let him help. She didn't want to talk to him about them… she didn't want to talk to Borden… Every time he mentioned Keaton or her nightmares or her emotional well-being, Jane changed the subject towards the investigation or Roman.

She wasn't creating a wall between — and each avoided conversation was like a new brick building the wall higher and thicker.

It wasn't only him. Kurt had been working from home the past few days which seemed to be an unspoken invitation for visitors. His apartment was a never ending parade of team members and well-wishers. In fact, his home felt like a veritable pub during dinnertime and the evenings — no reservations required.

And yet, anytime Patterson passed along Borden's words of encouragement, Jane shut them out. When Zapata or Reade offered to lend a friendly ear or subtly inquired about how she was dealing, Jane adroitly asked about Sandstorm. It was frustrating, but no one wanted to push her.

Kurt mentally bashed his ineptitude. Maybe he would be more capable if he were able to sleep himself. Unfortunately, he barely managed a wink of sleep.

His own nights were rife with skin-raising, nausea-inducing night terrors. In his dreams, Kurt was too late. Jane would be screaming for his help and every time— _every time_ — she died right in front of his eyes. Each night was different, but each death was horrible and visceral; he was powerless to prevent it. Like ghosts, Keaton, Roman, Taylor or his father's voice would mock or criticize in the background. He was denounced as a failure and he felt their condemnation like lead weights dragging him into darkness.

Most of the time he woke up with tears soaking his cheeks.

Most of the time he woke up and sought out Jane, if only to reassure himself that she was truly alive. He rarely found her in bed, she was usually in the kitchen or living room. She had a tense, hyper-vigilance about her posture that suggested she had probably woken from her own nightmare.

On the sixth day, Kurt had to make a change.

Despite the fact that her concussion made it difficult to concentrate, Jane had spent most of her day on the computer researching articles from South African newspapers hoping to find a story on her parents. She hadn't gotten very far with only the rudimentary facts from her first conversation with Roman but she was trying to find any articles or documentation to corroborate events and find a paper trail. Not a lot of luck so far.

Kurt had talked to her into a movie. Star Wars — Jane hadn't seen it before. By the time the credits came up, they were cozy and cuddled on the couch surrounded by stray kernels of popcorn.

Kurt broached the subject out of sheer desperation. He hoped that if he opened up first, it would make it easier for her to do the same. "Jane, I need to talk to you."

She tensed, noticeably, "What's the matter?"

Kurt heaved a sigh and took the plunge, "I can't sleep. Every night I have recurring nightmares that you die and I can't… I don't… "

Jane reached out to rub his shoulder, "I'm sorry, Kurt. I wish I'd known — what can I do to help?"

Kurt put his hand over her own, gripping it tightly, "It would help me, if you were nearby…" he examined her face, "What can I do to help you with your nightmares?"

Jane tugged her hand away, "Did you just say that to make me open up about my nightmares? Because…"

"No. I'm not. I'm being honest; I'm having a hard time dealing with what happened. It triggered a lot of things for me and it terrified me. I almost lost you, Jane. It put the fear of God in me and I relive that fear every night."

Mixed emotions crossed Jane's face, "I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive about the effect that this could have had on you— you shouldn't be losing sleep over me, I'm fine."

"Jane." Kurt interrupted, almost laughing at how she had perceived his explanation. "I'm not blaming you. Don't dump opinions on me that I haven't expressed and don't have. I'm sharing with you; I should have been more open with you from the beginning, maybe then you would be more willing to open up with me too."

Jane lurched back as if stung, "I've opened up to you, Kurt," she muttered defensively. "I just want to figure this out for myself. These are my demons and I need to defeat them."

Kurt leaned forward, "Jane, you don't have to defeat them on your own. Everyone wants to be there for you — _I want_ to be here for you. No one expects you to figure this out by yourself."

Jane pushed him back and raised her hands in front of her to maintain a distance. "I'm tired of always being the one who needs help. I don't want to be the victim anymore — the amnesiac, tortured, kidnapped, injured one. It's hateful to be a victim. it makes you feel exposed and angry and somehow guilty all at the same time. How can I work with you — how can we ever be anything— if you only see me as weak."

Kurt pressed his palms against her raised hands and curling his fingers in the spaces between her fingers. "You were victimized, Jane, but never a victim for long. Weak is not the word I would ever use to describe you."

"What word would you use?" the question revealed her vulnerability. It never occurred to him that a woman like Jane, who never flinched from a challenge and overcame any obstacle in her path, could have such an flawed image of herself.

"Strong. Courageous. Sacrificing. Compassionate. Talented. You never give up. I could write a book on you, Sweetheart."

For a second she just stared at him, "Is that really how you see me?"

"You amaze me every day, Jane. It's what made me fall in love with you."

Jane's awed eyes shimmered with unspoken fears and hopes. With trembling fingers she looped her hands around Kurt's nape and pulling him closer. Their kiss was searching and demanding, trying to communicate their needs without words. Goosebumps tingled across his neck and chest following the path of her hands. Jane's finger's stilled against he collarbone and pushed against him to gently break away.

Breathing hard, Jane's confession ripped from her heart. "It's still hard for me to talk about this — to burden you — I'm worried that you will regret this— us… me —, if I'm not able to fix myself soon."

"Jane, you aren't _broken_ and I want to know what's going on with you; I love you. Think about this a different way… Do you think I am somehow less because I've admitted to you that I have nightmares and have been having a hard time coping with what happened?"

"No, of course not—"

"I want a future for us, but it's never going to work if it's all one-sided. Neither of us is going to stay happy for long that way. We carry each other. I'm not saying this to force you to bare your soul, I just want you to think about it."

Kurt wasn't sure if she truly believed his words — but actions always did speak louder. He would have to prove it by deeds as well as words.

"Now, I know you want to be independent, but, you always slept better when I was with you, that's why I took the night shift when you stayed at the NYO. And if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to crack. Would you mind if I slept on your floor?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous, we can share a bed."

Kurt sensed the dumbfounded look on his face before a smile took over. "Which bed would you prefer?"

"Whichever one you're in."

…

* * *

...

Opening up about their struggles wasn't a solution or magical cure. In a fairy tale, her nightmares would have ceased that night… but they didn't.

In fact, that very night, Jane and Kurt both suffered horrifically in their dreams.

But when Jane felt the claws of terror digging into her throat and the inability to breathe, she awoke to find herself clutching at Kurt's hand. He held her when she cried and dried her tears — he didn't pressure her to talk. But she could feel his unquestioning support like a body of armour that made her feel brave enough to close her eyes and try to go back to sleep.

Likewise, when Kurt awoke still seeing Jane's bloody form behind his eyelids. She let him run his hands over her face and body until he was satisfied that she was alive and well.

Kurt fell asleep soon after his nightmare, the cares of the world were heavy on his shoulders and his body succumbed to exhaustion quickly. Jane lightly traced the lines around his eyes and the curve of his lips as he breathed deeply in slumberland. Kurt would never be a soft man. the capacity for violence lived under his skin. But he had shown her moments of extraordinary gentleness and she suspected, seeing him so relaxed in unguarded sleep was rare gift of trust.

Jane expected to feel like a failure once she admitted that she might need help to move forward from Keaton. Instead, it was freeing. It helped to learn that Kurt was struggling too — they were in this together. A team.

She wasn't alone.

If Kurt could trust her with his inadequacies, then Jane could do the same. Maybe they were both the right kind of flawed that had found a match in each other. Like two warped puzzle pieces…

The nightmares didn't stop for a long time, but eventually, they were less frequent. The realization and ability that they could lean on each other and share each other's burdens was a revolutionary concept to Jane — so used to struggling through on her own. It gave her the confidence to start therapy sessions with Borden and start voicing her fears and feelings out loud.

…

* * *

Thoughts on the chapter?

This is how I imagine Jane trying to cope, does it ring true?

Wondering if I should finish Sandstorm now or leave it open for a potential (unknown) sequel?


	24. Moving Forward

To start with, I have to say that you have been so incredibly supportive. I spilled my problems out and I wasn't really sure why or what would happen. But so many of you have been encouraging and kind and thoughtful — I can't tell you how much it means when people take the time to acknowledge what happened and offer words of comfort and advice.

You didn't have to take the time, but you did and you have my sincerest gratitude.

* * *

 **NOTE**

In my free time I have immersed myself in new blindspot ideas to keep my mind occupied.

Below, I have my latest plot bunnies for you to weigh in on for my next story.

* * *

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Chapter 24

Moving Forward

...

The team dropped by often, bringing groceries, food, and gossip. Tasha and Reade swung by on their lunch break, bringing Chinese to share. Their visit was a window of chatter and heralded a wave of warm camaraderie. When Tasha and Reade sensed that Jane was tired, they stepped up their banter to make her smile.

"I mean seriously, Jane. Check out his bowtie; who can take him seriously when he is wearing a yellow polka dot bowtie." Zapata wiggled her eyebrows, forgetting the noodles on her chopsticks and flinging them wildly as her arms swept in a wide gesture. "An FBI agent is supposed to be professional. That's all I'm saying."

Jane bit her lip to contain her giggles when she saw Reade's affronted face as he staunchly defended his fashion choice. "I'll have you know yellow is a flattering colour on me and a bowtie _is_ professional attire, loser." He straightened his bowtie jauntily, giving Jane a side wink.

"Clowns wear bowties too, you know."

"As do gentlemen."

Jane couldn't hold it in anymore. Her ribs protested loudly but the deep belly laughter spilled out of her mouth and joined Tasha's and Reade's. Kurt sidled into the room and leaned against the doorframe to enjoy the carefree moment. Jane's head was tilted back; her green eyes sparkled and teeth flashed in mirth while Reade and Tasha rough-housed on the sofa.

For a second the world was right. Until he caught Jane's wince of pain and her hand reflexively moving to cover her ribs. He immediately stepped forward, but she waved him off wanting to stay in the moment.

Reade and Tasha observed the little byplay and calmed down. By silent agreement they cut out the jokes to give Jane some reprieve. "It's great to see you around the office when you come in to see Borden, Jane, but it's strange not having you there everyday."

Jane shrugged and admitted, "I miss being able to see you guys all the time and I miss being far away from the action… but I don't actually miss living at the NYO."

"I can't blame you; who wants to live in an FBI headquarters? Speaking of housing accommodations… What's it like to shack up with, Weller?" Zapata grinned speculatively, "Could it be permanent? Any good secrets? Does he snore?"

"Zapata!" Reade and Kurt yelped.

The corners of her mouth tilted impishly and Jane teased, "No secrets to impart, Tash, my lips are sealed. But I'm actually hoping to unburden Kurt soon — I'm expecting my safe house to be available some time next week and then his secrets will be safe."

Tasha had turned to read Kurt's reaction and she saw the way his face stilled at Jane's declaration. His face was still composed but Tasha knew her boss well enough to know his tells.

 _Oh he didn't… He DID! Weller lied. Oh, he is going to be in trooouuble…_

Reade hadn't turned and therefore missed the important cues. Obliviously, he chatted, "What do mean available? Nobody is— HEY!" he turned to glare at Zapata - the instigator of the vicious pinch to the underside of his leg. "What's the _matter_ with you?"

Kurt quietly groaned and palmed his face.

Jane narrowed her eyes at Reade annoyed face, then Zapata's innocent grin before her gaze finally landing on Kurt guilty expression. Drawling shrewdly she crossed her arms, "Funny how things come to light…"

Finally cluing in, Reade laughed awkwardly, "You know what? I think I'm confused —"

"No Reade," Jane put him out of his misery. "I think you're probably exactly right. I think, my safe house is probably completely vacant right now." Turning her sharp gaze on Kurt she asked straight-faced, "What do you think, Weller?"

The jig was up but Weller wasn't going to budge on the decision he made. He declared pointedly, "I think that people leaving the hospital after serious injuries should not go home to an empty apartment _alone_ — no matter how stubborn they are."

Zapata's eyes darted back and forth between Jane and Weller, the tension was as good as live TV. She would have loved to stay and watch the drama unfold. Unfortunately, their phones chirped to remind them to return to the office.

Reade side-hugged Jane and nodded to Weller, "Well… as much fun as the land of Passive Aggressiva is— we have to be getting back. Enjoy the rest of the Chinese food and call if you need anything."

Reade started out the door while Kurt walked back to his office to get some paperwork he wanted returned to the NYO. Tasha lingered to hug Jane and say good-bye. "Are you sure you want to move back into your safe house? You and Kurt seem pretty cosy…"

"Kurt has been amazing— I wish I could just move in with him and be happy. I just feel like I need to reclaim that part of myself that was self-reliant before I can move on. Maybe it doesn't make sense…"

Tasha enveloped her friend in a hug, "It makes sense. Let me know when you're moving and we'll all give you a hand."

Jane let her head flop back on the couch, ignoring the mild shoot of pain, "I'll let you know. I don't care what Kurt says, I'm moving next week."

"It's his way of caring about you Jane. But if you really want your own space, he won't stand in your way. He will try to change your mind and if that doesn't work he may sleep on your doorstep or hire you a bodyguard… but he'll still help you."

"Kurt thinks I'm made of glass. He can't control everything—"

Tasha snorted, "Don't tell him that."

As she joined Reade in the SUV, a brilliant idea began to form. Once Tasha got to the office, she sprinted to Patterson's office to discuss the potential of sprucing up Jane's safe house for a proper homecoming. After all, the poor woman had basically nothing, plus, it would make Weller squirm which was always entertaining.

…

* * *

...

Jane waited until the rumble of the SUV faded into distant traffic before she carefully stood. She hadn't been exactly surprised by the revelation about the safe house but she didn't relish the upcoming conversation.

It wasn't that she didn't love Kurt — she did — which is why she had to do this. It would be so easy to rebuild her life around his but down the line that would only make both of them unhappy — things would fall apart. She needed to feel whole and healthy as an individual or they would never last as a couple.

Jane moseyed into Kurt's office and perched herself on the edge of his desk in front of him. "That was an illuminating visit."

Kurt looped his arms loosely around her waist as he rose from his chair and stood between her legs. He searched her face, prepared for anger or condemnation while he explained unrepentantly, "I should be sorry; I shouldn't have lied to you. But I'm not sorry. It would have driven me out of my mind with worry to have you living alone coming out of that situation. It was the right decision."

"And I love you for caring about me that much." She shook her head wryly, "Maybe it would have been stupid to move into the safe house right out of the hospital but I'm out of danger. It's time." Surprising Kurt, Jane cupped his bristly cheek in her hand and kissed him sweetly to take the sting out of her words.

"Why? Why are you rushing to be alone." He sounded confused and almost hurt — she wondered if he thought she was running away from him.

Jane rushed to correct him, "I don't want to be alone; I want to be happy and capable and _strong_. Our jobs are dangerous Kurt and we made an excellent team but we have to be tough as nails with razor-sharp instincts to survive it. How can I be on the team if I can't trust myself — if I can't take care of myself. It would compromise every action we made on the field."

"There is no need to rush into fieldwork either, Jane," he reassured misguidedly.

She pressed on because he didn't understand, "It's about more than that. This past year has been hell and I need to face it and find myself outside of it— and part of that, is proving to myself that I can sleep through the night on my own and pick myself up when I fall. I know it's going to be difficult but it's an important step for me towards feeling more like myself."

She could see when he grasped her words — perhaps he even identified with him. They both needed to learn how to get through the night without each other to fight the demons away. For her, it was a fine line between leaning on each for support and using each other as a crutch.

He acquiesced "Why do you have to be so logical and determined about this — it makes it hard to argue with you."

"Part of my charm."

"I'll help you move out when you're ready — but I still want to wait until after your next checkup before we make any decisions. And my place is always open to you, Jane, I would love it if you stayed."

"Thank you, Kurt. Maybe someday we will move in together." She quirked her lips, "It might be nice if we went on a few dates first… but then again we've already talked about love and we never were conventional."

…

* * *

...

The next night, Kurt woke, not from a nightmare, but to the quiet buzz of his phone on the nightstand. It wouldn't be until later, that he would rejoice and lament that for once he had broken out of sleep for normal reasons rather than horrific.

Unknown number.

He answered it not bothering to mask the sleepy timbre of his husky voice, "Weller."

"Joey's pizza," came the dry voice on the other line.

Kurt rubbed his face roughly to wake himself up, "What's the matter? Do you need to talk to Jane."

"No— not now, I'll call her tomorrow." Roman's tone was measured, "I want to talk to you."

Kurt was tired and in no mood to beat around the bush, "Okay, talk."

"I've been thinking a lot about what Jane said and evaluating the situation here." He paused, "Suppose that I provided the FBI with information about our organization. I could give you what you need to dismantle Shepherd's empire but, in return, I need immunity for myself and my sister for our past crimes."

Just like that Kurt suddenly felt alert. He didn't pause, "Yes, we can negotiate that." He knew Pellington and the higher ups would, unequivocally, offer Roman an immunity deal if it would mean eradicating such a powerful terrorist organization on domestic soil. It had happened before.

"I'll need it in writing before I step foot near the FBI again."

"Done. I will bring your offer to my boss tomorrow morning and contact you as soon as I have something concrete."

Kurt expected Roman to hang up the phone, but the younger man stayed on the line. Kurt hesitated; he was exhausted and couldn't imagine what was stalling Roman. "Do you need something else?"

"Jane trusts you but I still don't like you. You better be as reliable as you claim to be and make her happy or I _will_ kill you and I won't leave a body behind this time."

Kurt felt the sincerity of the warning, but he wasn't afraid. "I have no intention of doing otherwise. But be advised, the threat goes both ways. Don't disappoint her; she has lost enough of her life without losing her brother too. Don't make me regret this or you'll find yourself in a hole so dark that even the CIA won't know where to look for you."

Once they were both satisfied that they made their points effectively the phone conversation ended. Next to Kurt, Jane went on sleeping, unaware of how she had just become the key to end Sandstorm.

He couldn't bear to break her peaceful sleep, not when it came so rarely. Tomorrow he would wake her up with the good news.

…

* * *

...

Roman was no stranger to a life on the edge, in fact, it was essentially a normal state of affairs. A childhood of extreme conditioning and abuse, an adolescence of militaristic training and an adulthood of illegal missions; being a double agent would be simple by comparison.

His sister had managed to turn his life on its head. Shepherd had raised them — taken them in— and given them a home. She had been like an avenging angel in his eyes; he thought that she walked on water. roman believed that the woman who had rescued them could only be just and righteous. He hadn't let himself see beyond the narrative Shepherd provided, the proof she displayed or the plans she outlined. He had followed her blindly and implicitly — as had his sister — but what had it gotten them?

It had felt foreign to see Jane side against everything they had fought for together. Foreign and confusing and eye-opening. His sister had always been a staunch crusader; to see her so adamantly opposed to Shepherd couldn't help but force him to question what he had taken for fact. When Roman returned to base after the hospital, he had found a moment to talk to Shepherd alone.

Roman lied. Feigning zealous loyalty, he told his leader that he had overheard one of their soldiers questioning their mission; using it as a springboard he pressed her for deeper explanations. The woman he had imagined as his mother turned lethal in front of his eyes. She brushed off his concerns, evaded the questions and demanded an example be made of the disloyal.

In reckless desperation, Roman tried to redeem Shepherd in his eyes. He asked, once more, for resources to search for Remi — his sister… her daughter. He had been coldly denied; his request disregarded as an unimportant whim. With a look of confused disgust, Shepherd told him that he was being foolish and distracted — that Remi was dead. Not a glimmer of remorse or grief — not even an attempt to feign empathy or sadness.

Shepherd was as immoveable as stone. The mask had been stripped away.

In the night hours, Roman researched countless examples of history and military actions that Shepherd had used to indoctrinate Remi and himself. The stories she had told existed — but they had been told in half-truths. The more Roman learned, the more disillusioned he became.

It felt like his world was crashing down around him. What had once been solid ground had become quicksand — the tenants of his beliefs were collapsing.

He needed an anchor. The only thing true — the only thing constant that he could think to grasp onto, was his sister. Jane. Roman had made his decision. The next night he made the call and within days he had signed his life away to the FBI.

He still wasn't sure that it was the right decision — wasn't sure if they could be trusted. But at least he and Jane would be fighting together. At this point, that was all he needed.

…

* * *

...

To say that Jane was ecstatically excited about Roman's decision would be an understatement. Kurt cautioned her to tread carefully with her brother; there were still a lot of things about him that she couldn't remember. There was still a chance, after all, that this was a ploy by Sandstorm to plant Roman as a mole of some sort.

Jane forced herself to be sensible and think like a soldier. Kurt wasn't wrong, Roman could be trying to work as a double agent. But in her heart, she knew that her conversations with Roman in Woodside, the hospital, and their brief talks over the phone while she was in recovery… they were making him analyze Shepherd's operation with new eyes.

More than that — she knew that her brother needed family to ground him, just as much she did. She saw it in his eyes and his posture — the small mannerisms that brought flashes of memories and familiarity. She heard it in his voice — the inflections of emotion that were impossible to contrive or mask.

All their lives, they had been each other's cornerstone.

Roman missed her.

Jane wasn't an idiot — she knew her own feelings were affecting her judgement. But she truly believed that her brother was making this choice so that they could still be a family. And, by God, she was going to make sure Roman didn't regret that decision.

Weller told Pellington a believable version of events. He said that Roman came forward offering to work as a double agent after he met with Jane at the Woodside location. As her brother, he had been appalled to learn that she had been taken and injured by Keaton which made him rethink his priorities. Roman wanted to rejoin his sister even if it meant changing sides.

Pellington, naturally agreed to the plea deal and authorized documentation to offer Roman (and Jane) immunity for past criminal activity as Sandstorm operatives for the intel necessary to take down the operation. With the documentation in hand, Weller had called Roman as promised.

In a matter of days, Jane escorted her brother into the NYO from a discreet entrance to have him meet the team officially. After all, as far as anyone officially knew, this was their first meeting. The team acted their parts with gravity and followed their lines accordingly.

It was impossible to hide the smile of pride on her face as Jane and Roman walked side by side through the bullpen. She had hoped for a moment like this, but hadn't allowed herself to really expect it. This was better than she imagined.

The only thing that would have made it better was if Sandstorm was already eliminated. Realistically, it would have been too simple to blow Sandstorm's operation in one fell sweep.

Once outlined, their plan to dismantle Sandstorm would be executed in steps. Based on Roman's detailed intelligence, Shepherd had strongholds and outposts in multiple states. Her operation was a twisted web that stretched across industries and government branches. She had carefully placed individuals in numerous positions of power.

The plan was to infiltrate and eliminate the smaller caches of supplies, buildings and peripheral contacts in order to tighten the noose and reduce resources and numbers should she evade capture. To do this, Roman would work as a double agent for several weeks to keep tabs on Sandstorm's awareness as the trap was set.

It wasn't safe for Roman to come too often in order to avoid arousing Shepherd's suspicions. Jane wished she could take him out with the team or have him take part in missions with them. She wanted him to experience her life and her friends so that he would understand what drew her away from Shepherd and hopeful allow him to build connections of his own.

When this was all over, she would do just that.

As it stood, Roman tended to either ignore or be short with everyone in the FBI building except herself. Well, almost everyone…

…

* * *

...

Roman acknowledged that Sandstorm had no moles currently working in the FBI. This made him free to walk around the building as a "consultant", although, his identity and role in the grand scheme was kept top secret. He tried to stay low key and avoid the NYO as much as possible.

They had created an elaborate system to exchange information to avoid Shepherd's suspicion but Roman found a handful of opportunities to drop by unannounced. He liked to check in on his sister in person; rebuilding their relationship would take a lifetime and he didn't want to waste time. Plus, he liked catching the FBI unawares.

Moving discretely through the building, Roman ran rather abruptly into the blonde, smart one. Patterson. She was talkative and bubbly yet obviously brilliant — a strange combination that he didn't know how to deal with. But she had a friendliness and naturally drew people in; Roman found he liked her dry humour and comical reactions.

Of all Jane's team mates, she was the easiest to tolerate.

Looking down at her phone, Patterson had almost bumped into him, "Oh, I'm sorry — Roman! Hi… were you supposed to… did we have a… no one was expecting you today…"

"Impromptu visit." he smiled pleasantly to set her at ease, "Just wanted to check in with my sister."

While Jane was still recovering, Roman knew she usually had sessions with Borden and the physical therapist in the morning then lingered in the office through the lunch hour. Jane encouraged him to talk to Borden as well — said it could help — but the only person he was willing to discuss his past with was his sister. No one else would understand.

"Oh! That's sweet." Patterson bit her lip and winced, "I think she's having a tough morning after her session — she's still in Weller's office."

"I see," Roman immediately peered over Patterson's shoulder to try and see through the glass. Bad angle. He muttered a good-bye to Patterson to continue his trajectory when he was halted by her hand on his arm.

Roman struggled with his immediate reflex to throw off her touch and strike. The ingrained aggression was hard to combat… a daily struggle it seemed

"Umm before you go can I ask you a quick question?" the blonde seemed oblivious to the tension in his body and ignored his lack of response. "Jane's moving into her safe house in a couple of days. Tasha and I have redecorated and made it more homey as a surprise. I was wondering if you have any ideas on things she might like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like any books or music or food or something she loved from before that she would enjoy," Patterson flustered.

Roman almost snorted in disbelief. They had a stark childhood where they were lucky to have a thin cot let alone music or any personal items. Even with Shepherd, their education was strict and didn't allow for much free time to develop unnecessary hobbies. A soldier's life did not allow for fripperies or anything you couldn't leave behind in an instant.

Biting back a sharp remark, Roman saw the earnest question on the woman's face. Patterson didn't understand nor did had she earned his temper. Looking back on his memories, Roman picked out a few facts to placate her, "My sister liked the colour green, warm wool blankets, the ocean and jazz music."

"I can work with that." Patterson smiled and darted away.

Moving towards his target, Roman continued through the bullpen and, not bothering to knock, pushed open Weller's door. The other man's eyes snapped up angrily and he mutely gestured for silence. Following Kurt's hand, Roman saw his sister sleeping soundly on the couch.

"What happened?" Roman whispered unconsciously looking for injuries. He had never known his sister to nap in the middle of the day.

Weller moved to Jane's side, tenderly pulling her blanket closer around her, "She had a bad night and Borden's session didn't help. She tried to push through her symptoms and her mild headache turned into a massive one — I wanted to keep an eye on her rather than send her home."

"You mean to _your_ apartment." Roman murmured belligerently.

Weller didn't flinch, "Do you need something Roman or is this a social call?"

"I had a free space of time and I wanted to see, Jane. Are her symptoms still bad?" It seemed that his dear, sweet sister had been downplaying her recovery. Typical, stubborn brat.

"She's recovering steadily — but she has a bad habit of ignoring her pain instead of slowing down and resting." Weller's frustration was keen but still affectionate. He seemed to admire her stubbornness in a way that made Roman cringe. No brother ever wanted to think too much about their sister's relationships.

"I hate to break it to you, but she's always been like that. I think I actually had to tie her down once when she tried to walk on a broken leg."

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

"It's nice to know that some things about her haven't changed…"

When Jane slowly stirred into consciousness she was met with a curious sound. Her brother and her boyfriend having a calm and quiet conversation. Allowing her eyelids to remain heavy and closed, Jane wondered if she was dreaming. Usually their conversation was a minefield of backbiting and underhanded sarcasm — this was… civil… friendly even.

Evening out her breathe, Jane let her eyes close. She didn't want to interrupt when they were finally getting along.

…

* * *

Did you enjoy the chapter?

I love using Reade/Zapata for comedy. And Roman has officially turned, yay!

While I have put Patterson with Borden, I secretly love the idea of her and Roman together- anyone else agree?

* * *

There's still a little left to this story but I am looking ahead.

I would have liked to narrow it down more, except I really can't pick between these four. I figured you guys might have an idea and lots of options are always nice.

 **What story plot strikes you as the most interesting. What would you like to read next?**

1.

Jane and Kurt are happily together. Sandstorm has been mostly defeated. Roman is alive and well (a little broody but somewhat rehabilitated). What happens when a figure from Jane's past can't let her go and she disappears (hint. It is an OC, not Keaton or Shepherd)

2.

AU Roman and Kurt work together in FBI and are close friends. Roman's sister, Jane is transferred to the NYO under suspicious circumstances. The attraction is immediate, but something suspicious is guiding their cases and they are determined to get to the root of things.

3.

Kurt is forced to make a choice between the lives of Jane and Nas. Who will he choose and will Jane even let him make the decision? Jane is well-aware of where she stands with the team and refuses to be the reason that someone else dies. An alternative version of winter finale.

4.

In order to turn Jane away from the FBI, Roman slips Kurt a drug to make him act cruelly out of character. Under the influence, Kurt hurts Jane and destroys their fragile friendship (no rape). Is it irreparable if he can hardly remember what he has done? Will anyone even notice or care?


	25. Out of the Shadows

I'm so sorry for the long wait everyone. Just after I posted the last chapter, my dear friend passed away. She was generous and gracious and so kind and it all happened far too suddenly. To put it delicately… I did not take it very well.

Certain activities, such as writing, just put me in a dark and emotional space.I always intended to finish this story and continue writing but every time I attempted to work on it … I just couldn't — the words wouldn't come. I feel bad for disappearing without explanation. Please know that it was never my intention to let my story lapse for so long.

* * *

Recent news of Blindspot's renewal for a third season offered some inspiration. New ideas bubbled up and I finally was able to put some words together for this story. Yay for season 3, that finale was epic.

Hopefully you all remember my story and are still interested in continuing to read it.

* * *

...

Chapter 25

Out of the Shadows

...

Jane dug her feet into the plush cushion of the couch and wiggled her toes against the luxurious fabric. She was cuddled under a dark green wool throw that was wrapped cozily around her shoulders. It was hard to believe that this was her safe house.

Tasha and Patterson had transformed the space. The patched white walls and mismatched chairs had been replaced with warm green tones and matching furniture. Moreover, they had selected new linens, curtains and framed pictures; even the shelves were filled with books and music they thought she would like. It looked like a real home— a real home that had been designed just for her..

When she had stepped over the threshold into the building Jane had been expecting the dismal, homely apartment that had been assigned to her last year. Instead, a crescendo of voices and smiling faces welcomed her into her new home. Tasha and Patterson proudly displayed their decorating talents while Kurt puckishly pointed out the drawer full of take-out menus.

Even now, Jane's eyes watered with awe and disbelief at her fortune. Four months ago— hell, four weeks ago — she could never have imagined that this would be her life. Even in her darkest moments when she had fantasized a home in the recesses of her mind, it had been an intangible fiction. Reality was so much better. Jane breathed in the crisp scent of a clean start and willed herself to remember this feeling forever.

Patterson had quietly pointed out the jazz CDs stacked in the shelves, the green colour scheme and the same wool blanket she had currently wrapped around her shoulders as items chosen based on Roman's advice. Even though Roman couldn't come to the party, Jane hoped that soon Roman might be able to move in with her and get a new start of his own… Once they were out of Shepherd's shadow.

Jane fingered the blanket thoughtfully. She yearned to rebuild her relationship with her brother, but, lately, their time together had been fleeting. She understood that they didn't want to arouse Shepherd's notice but Jane worried about Roman and she was terrified that she would lose him before she even truly got a chance to know him again.

In his stolen moments at the NYO their stilted conversations were tinged with awkward silences. It was difficult for Roman to talk about deeply ingrained memories that she could no longer share. His frustration fed into her shame and it brought their words to stuttering stops. It was hard not to hate herself all over again for the decision to wipe away her life. The implosion of their sibling bond was her fault.

Roman was putting so much faith in her. Because of her, he was trusting the FBI and going against the only mother he knew — she didn't want to let him down in any way… not again. She wanted to be worthy of his allegiance.

But while there were clumsy moments, there were also moments of supreme connection — like muscle memory Jane's hand would tug at her brother's ear or playfully jab him in the arm. Her spirit and words would strike a familiar chord and they would banter or even argue with familiarity. Roman's eyes would crinkle and become less guarded and everything was simple and genuine.

In his presence, her memories of childhood and adolescence came more frequently and he helped her interpret the brief snatches that bubbled up from the darkness. In Roman's last visit he had taught her how to play Mancala and he had agreed to be her sparring partner to get her back into fighting shape.

Jane allowed her thoughts on Roman to drift away for now. The team had filled her home with light and laughter on her first night. She savoured each memory to preserve them in her mind.

One by one they eventually all bid her goodbye until the next day. Kurt was, naturally, the last to leave. Dragging his feet, he offered one last time to spend the night. Jane teased him, that he wouldn't be able to sleep without her, but the laughter was poisoned by the truth in her words. Their smiles never reached either of their eyes; they both knew that the adjustment would be difficult for both of them. Kurt urged her to call him if she couldn't sleep and she made him promise to do the same.

Jane stood in the doorway and vigilantly watched Kurt get into his car and drive away. She almost called him back, the words were poised on her tongue and bursting to be released from her throat but she swallowed them down and waved him goodbye. Her body ached to run after him and throw her arms around him but she anchored her feet to the floor until he was out of sight. Then she quietly tidied the kitchen and curled up on the couch under the comfort of the blanket.

 _This was my idea, I can't back out now. I can take care of myself just fine — I've been doing it for a long time. I can't rely on him for everything — I have to learn how to do this on my own. This will be a good thing._

She had been adamant about striking out on her own to regain her sense of self and strength. Plus, the team had gone through all this effort to fix up her safe house. Jane could not let them or herself down — not on the first night.

It was strange — before she had always lived alone outside of work. All of last year, it had been the norm and she had grown used to the lonely evenings and solitude. Drinking alone… walking in the shadows… dreaming in the dark… Yet, since she was returned to the FBI she had been in constant company. Even when she improved and the team no longer spent hours by her side, she could hear the bustle of the building all around her.

She expected that spending the night here in her safe house would be familiar - but it felt distant and as lonely as her first night in it.

Jane would never tell anyone that she slept with every single light turned on in the house. And when she finally found sleep between the night terrors, it was with the green, wool blanket wrapped firmly around her shoulders and with her cell phone clutched in her fist.

…

* * *

...

 _3 days later_

Roman shut down his emotions as he schooled his features into a passive mask. He felt the weight of Shepherd's stare as he squeezed the gun's trigger and ended the life of the begging man kneeling at his feet. The man was a pawn, one of many that had died at his hands. Later, Roman would remember this moment with suffocating shame, but now was not the time for hesitation. Hesitation created doubts and doubts would get him killed.

 _I didn't have a choice. Shepherd has become paranoid and has been second guessing my words and doubting my actions. She suspects something, that woman has a sixth sense when it comes to subterfuge; I should have known it wouldn't be easy to fool her for long._

 _A sacrifice had to be made to reassure Shepherd long enough to initiate action. The dead man was a sadistic sonofabitch that the world wouldn't miss — at least I chose my victim carefully._

 _One life sacrificed for the sake of millions. Remi would understand… Hopefully Jane will too._

Roman didn't have time to ponder his apathy to murder — maybe once this travesty was put to rest he could rue his crooked moral compass. Until then, someone had to the do the dirty work. His hands were already filthy, what was a little more blood?

Roman had hoped to dismantle a few more branches of Shepherd's empire before signalling an attack, or at least close off a few more avenues of cash-flow. But his instincts were screaming that delays were no longer an option. Shepherd had been on a rampage, targeting their own people — it was a witch hunt — it was only a matter of time until she discovered his duplicity.

Somehow she had been tipped off to something; it was a dangerous sign that she hadn't shared any of that information with her "son." As soon as Roman sensed his "mother's" shrewd eyes both literally and figuratively on him, he became her picture-perfect soldier. But he knew that time was running out.

Too wary to arouse suspicion by leaving the compound, Roman evaded the cameras to make contact. The disposable phone crackled in his sweaty palm as he vigilantly scanned the darkened room waiting for Weller to pick up.

"How is the weather?" The code phrase resounded like music to his ears.

"It has been a stormy season." Roman gave the necessary response; his voice hushed in the quiet.

"Update?"

"It needs to happen now— tonight — the situation is unstable. I will be ready."

"Understood."

Roman tucked the phone into his back pocket, there was no longer a need to hide it. Within hours the compound would be a battleground.

 _It will all be over soon._

 _Focus._

 _Arm yourself._

 _Find Shepherd._

His heart was pounding in his head as he stalked between the shadows to hunt down his mother.

…

* * *

...

Days of meticulous planning had paid off. Roman's signal rang like a call to battle at the NYO, with all the momentum of a landslide. En masse, offices coordinated and teams of agents were deployed into practiced action.

Jane had wheedled and demanded clearance to join the mission to take down Shepherd but she was denied. Her injuries still made her a liability in the field — this mission could afford no mistakes. No amount of persuasion on her part had been able to sway Kurt otherwise… and she had tried every method in her arsenal from blackmail to seduction.

Jane pulled Kurt away from the chaos in the command centre to desperate for him to reconsider his decision to deny her a place in the action. "You can't leave me behind. This all started because of me — I need to be there."

"No. Jane. The decision's been made. Every second we argue, is time we are taking away from this mission." There was no time to break this gently. Kurt pinned her with a stone-faced grimace but his face softened at the emotional plea in her eyes. "Jane you are a liability - you know you aren't physically ready for this. Please, be reasonable — we don't have time for this."

"I am being reasonable!" Her voice dripped with scorn. "My brother is out there, alone. I am at the centre of this — this is my fight. I won't be left on the sidelines of this fight."

Kurt tipped up her chin, "You aren't being cut out — You can oversee the action here with Patterson. You will be able to access everyone's movements and provide intel if needed." Kurt was pulled away from their conversation by an argument between Nas and Patterson on the best use of the drones.

Jane allowed Kurt to walk away thinking that he had won.

 _I'm not a child to be placated with a false sense of importance._ _He doesn't understand. I have been waiting for this day since I crawled out of that bag. Roman and this team are my family and they were drawn into this because of me; I can't leave them to fight alone. My body. My decision. My family. My fight._

In the organized chaos of the office, it was easy for Jane to slip into the change rooms with the rest of the agents to suit up. She trooped along and armed herself at the armoury, her face easily recognized as a legitimate member of Kurt's team. She dodged recognition from Reade or Zapata, skillfully avoiding detection as she infiltrated a support team and climbed aboard an armoured vehicle that was part of the convoy to Shepherd's base. In the dead of night and the rush of bodies following orders, she melted easily into the background.

Her adrenaline built as the vehicle sped to it's destination. Jane embraced her body's natural drug to block the building pain in her head and the dull throb of pain from her bones as her body was jostled in the truck. She was good at surpassing her limitations, practice made perfect and now was not the time to fail.

In a dramatic multi-taskforce take-down, Sandstorm's main hubs of operation were swarmed by scores of agents, armed vehicles and air support. As the thin light of the dawn crept over the trees to illuminate the compound, chaos reigned on the ground.

Jane allowed herself to be swept up in the momentum of agents infiltrating the smaller side buildings of the compound. Her goal was to find Roman and Shepherd (and not necessarily in that order). She had hoped that the compound would spark recognition but no memories arose. Her gut told her that Shepherd would withdraw from the action. A woman who spent years orchestrating a massive national takedown would have an escape route… or ten.

Creeping around the building, Jane spotted movement amongst the trees along the western fence. A combatant was attempting to scale a tree and hop the fence. Rushing forward, Jane used her momentum to leapt and grasp the enemy's dangling legs. Gravity pulled them both in a tumble back to earth. Her ribs screamed on impact but Jane reflexively rolled her body and subdued the dazed soldier.

"Where is Shepherd?" she snarled.

"I don't know," the unknown man grunted and gasped for air. He was on his stomach, his face coughing out puffs of dirt with Jane straddling his back handcuffing his wrists.

She didn't have time for negotiations. Levelling the barrel of her gun at the back of his prone head she felt his breathing stutter at the unyielding pressure. "I need the escape route! Where were you instructed to go if under attack."

"In the event of an attack we were meant to fight and subdue our enemy, there was no option to retreat."

"What about a rendezvous point or second location nearby" Jane twisted his arm roughly with one hand while maintaining the gun's pressure with the other.

"There's an empty building a mile west of here, by a creek. We use it for back up supplies or training exercises sometimes— that's all I know."

Jane grimaced. This recruit was clearly not very high on the totem pole, but his intel had potential. Shepherd would need supplies if she was going to flee. Gesturing to other agents for assistance she asked them to take her prisoner back with the rest. Radioing in to Patterson she gave her the intel she had discovered.

"Jane! What are you— you're supposed to be— Does Weller know!" the half-formed reprimands crackled over the comms. "You are in so much trouble."

Voicing no apologies Jane continued, "I'm going to look for the building and let you know if I find anything. Send back up if it's available."

"Ja—" all protests were shut off with the click of a button.

…

* * *

...

Roman circled his mother, his body prepared for battle. Roman been unable to take the fatal shot against the woman who had been his mother. Instead, in a moment of weakness, he sought to turn her into FBI custody. If anyone could have taken her in peaceful, it should be her son. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out so well.

Shepherd was still trying to salvage the situations - her face twisted into a visage of wounded love, "I'm the one who's always cared about you Roman, I am the only one who understands. We can leave, _together_."

"There is no "we" or "us." There has only ever been _you_ and the people you have used to enact your twisted plan," Roman snarled and lunged. With vicious precision they jabbed and ducked as they traded blows.

Shepherd heaved, "I am trying to save the world." Her eyes glittered with fanatical fervour, "We were going to be part of the rise of our new nation."

"You manipulate your words to make them sound like the truth but you have always been a liar. You have been brainwashing me my whole life - you turned me in a monster, your trusted attack dog — but no more. I've had enough of your half-truths and enough of following you blindly."

This time Shepherd initiated the attack. A blinding blur of fists and knees created a deadly dance. She targeted Roman's head while he swept from below. Shepherd landed with a crack and tried to stumble blindly to her feet but was pressed against the wall with Roman's arm tight at her throat.

"What happened to you Roman?" she wheezed and allowed her tawny eyes to water, "We have always been in this together; who turned you against your own mother?"

"I found Remi." Roman took in her slackened expression and scoffed sarcastically, "My dear sweet mother, you left her behind for dead and she very nearly was. But she always was stronger than you accounted for — certainly strong enough to see through you. You never could get past it."

"Your sister can't know you like I do, Roman. She has been turned by the FBI, you can't trust what she says — she has no true experience of what they've done." Shepherd clawed at his arm, "You know the truth! You know this country needs to be fixed."

"Enough" Roman slammed her harder against the wall, "— enough of this. I won't be twisted by you any more. If your truths are so admirable, let's see you defend them without a detonator in your hand."

"How dare you turn against me. You have no idea what I've sacrificed for you. I saved your life and this is the thanks I get?"

She pushed him too far and Roman snapped, "You ruined my life!"

Shepherd took her advantage and threw herself to the side. Scrabbling for her ankle holster, she withdrew her gun. Until now, neither of them had drawn against each other. Perhaps they both foolishly believed that words would be enough to sway. Or perhaps neither of them were quite willing to kill their family. Whatever the case or cause — it was obliterated by Shepherd's warning shot.

Under Shepherd's aim, Roman stilled.

"It's not too late. Come with me Roman."

Even under threat, Roman could not give into his mother, "I can't."

An ineffable expression swept across Shepherd's face and then was gone, "So be it." While Roman had been unable to shoot his mother, she bore no such qualms. The bullet tore into Roman's chest and Shepherd vanished into the woods without a second look.

Only minutes later, Jane stumbled into the building and found her brother lying on scuffed floor. Shuddering with sobs she cradled his blonde head and wept with gratitude that the bullet hit the plates of his vest. As the sun's rays filtered into the room, they waited for back up to arrive.

…

* * *

Thank you for giving my story another chance.

Please know that I have received and read all of the reviews you have posted. They were much appreciated and kept this story in my mind and reminded me to keep on working at it.

...

I also have tallied up the votes on the potential plot lines I offered for my next story. So far two stories are tied for first place and I have eliminated the other two stories from the running.

1\. Jane and Kurt are happily together. Sandstorm has been mostly defeated. Roman is alive and well (a little broody but somewhat rehabilitated). What happens when a figure from Jane's past can't let her go and she disappears (hint. It is an OC, not Keaton or Shepherd)

3\. Kurt is forced to make a choice between the lives of Jane and Nas. Jane is well—aware of where she stands with the team and refuses to be the reason that someone else dies. An alternative version of winter finale.

But let's be honest. That FINALE ! The feels! The potential for fluff and scope for filling in those two years GAH.

...

 **Please cast a vote for your favourite between these two or let me know if you are more drawn towards a story dealing with more recent events.**

I have gotten bursts of inspiration for new stories with news of Blindspot's renewal but I want to honour the interest you all have made in these stories and will bring one into fruition.


	26. We're a Team

Wow. You guys are amazing and lovely. Thank you to everyone who has offered support and made such kind comments. It was tough for me to come back, I was worried that no one would remember my story. But I wanted to finish it and making myself write again was a really big milestone for me.

You have no idea how much it means that so many of you remembered my story and were still interested enough to read it. It was so motivating and up-lifting, I was inspired to write another chapter and have so many ideas for new stories once this one is done.

So, Thank you, really — thank you.

* * *

Also, I must say, I am amazed by the boost of stories that have been appearing since the finale. It is so awesome! I love that this show's fanbase is so passionate and invested in the characters, it is a wonderful sort of community to be a part of.

* * *

...

Chapter 26

We're a Team

...

With expertise drawn from years of experience, Weller headed his team as they infiltrated the main building of the compound. The Sandstorm soldiers were well-trained and highly skilled — he would give them that, but with Roman's insider knowledge it had been a solid entry. Within an hour, the building had been cleared and his team was securing hostages and preparing to re-evaluate and provide assistance.

"Weller, are you clear?" Patterson's voice filtered through the comms.

"Clear, Patterson. No casualties on our team. The main building is clear, we are going to assist in securing the rest of the compound before scouring the surrounding area."

"Good, that's good," Patterson stalled, "uhm."

Kurt halted at her hesitant tone, "Spit it out, Patterson."

"Jane's there — well not there exactly, she sort of smuggled herself into the convoy and she is tracking Shepherd to a potential secondary rendezvous point west of the compound… by herself," Patterson's voice petered out awkwardly into silence.

Kurt tried to regulate his breathing but all he could hear was blood roaring in his ears. _Damn it, Jane._ No team, no back up and she was not at full capacity — how could she be so stupid to go after Shepherd on her own? Why couldn't she just listen for once in her life? She was trying to get herself killed — and he was going to kill her himself for reckless endangerment before he was going to let that happen.

He growled with urgency, "Is she available on comms?"

"No… she turned them off," Patterson's wince was almost audible.

"Give me the coordinates. TEAM! We're moving west outside the compound. Move!"

Rattled by the anger in his voice, Patterson rambled, "Well, the location was sort of vague… I found an outlying building on a satellite image that could be it… I'm like 80% sure it's the right place but…"

"Patterson!"

"You know what, I'm going to just send that to you, no problem. Great. Perfect. Okay then. Just let me know —"

"—Thanks, Patterson."

The soft glow of the morning sun was warming the sky as Weller stealthily trekked through the woods. He could hear the faint gurgle of a stream and the shadow of a barn-like building up ahead. Using hand signals, Kurt cued the team to fan out into formation and surround the building.

No windows were visible and there were only two points of access on each end of the building. In the quiet woods, the shadowed structure emit no sounds of an altercation and Kurt's straining ears heard no shots fired as they closed in on the location. Kurt prayed that the silence did not hint towards a horrific scene within. Steeling himself, he gave the signal to open the door. Sunlight collided with the ambient lighting within the well-stocked building but Kurt's eyes were searching for only one thing — signs of life.

"Kurt?" Jane's voice rasped and Kurt felt a vice loosen from around his heart. There! She was sitting against the wall with Roman's head cradled in her lap. He immediately assessed the scene - signs of a struggle but no obvious pools of blood. Both Jane and Roman appeared conscious and lucid, all good signs.

Kurt fell to his knees in front of her. Ignoring the attention of his team, Kurt ran his eyes furtively over her body and pressed his hand against her cheek. Satisfied that he could find no blood or serious injury he finally trusted his voice to speak, "Are you okay?"

"We're fine, Shepherd shot Roman in the plates and got away. I got here a few minutes after — she has about a 15 to 20 minute head-start," Jane's breathes were shallow and speaking laboured — her ribs were probably giving her hell.

Kurt gave commands for the team to search the surrounding area for Shepherd as well as to assist Roman back to the compound for a medical assessment. Jane made to follow her brother but Kurt tugged her back. He wrapped his arms around her tenderly and pressed a kiss to her forehead — final assurance that she was safe before he let his guard down.

"What were you thinking," he ground out and pulled back from her, scraping together a veneer of his Assistant Direction authority. Through intense concentration he kept his hands at his sides. "You were reckless! You disobeyed my orders! You cannot take those risks lightly, we are a team. It is not your call! I should suspend you — do something like that again and I will fire you!"

Jane tightened her jaw and crossed her arms, "I'm not sorry. You couldn't seriously imagine that I would let you do this without me. After everything — really, Kurt, what would you have done if you were me?"

"Exactly the same thing." But that didn't mean that they weren't going to discuss this _at length,_ later.

…

* * *

...

Physically, Roman healed quickly from the compound takedown. Emotional recovery was a different story. He joined Jane and the FBI because he doubted his mother's mission, but that didn't mean that deep down he didn't still care about her — she was the only mother he remembered and she had been a big part of his world for two decades.

He couldn't kill her and, honestly, never thought that she would be able to kill him either — and yet she shot him… in the heart.

Those final moments haunted and drove Roman to new levels of obsession when it came to eliminating Sandstorm for good. He channeled his feelings of betrayal, anger, and frustration into finding and stopping Shepherd. He consulted and took point on the remaining efforts to ensnare every facet and faction of the organization with painstaking diligence. He was going to cut his mother off at the knees until she was forced to come crawling back or retreat into the darkest hole she could find.

The physical work and ability to see progress in each case brought satisfaction but didn't heal the emotional and psychological breach brought on by changing sides. Roman suffered a crisis of identity — who was he apart from Shepherd? Jane's new life forced him to view his past with new eyes. He felt guilt for his past crimes and the desire for redemption. He felt victimized by Shepherd and yet empowered by her education. He was most comfortable in roles of violence and lashed out often when emotionally conflicted.

Minor understatement — his new therapist was having a field day.

He clung to his soldier persona, throwing whole self into proving himself invaluable to the FBI - both for his sister's sake as well as his own. He defined himself heavily by his role as Jane's brother. Like the blind leading the blind, Jane helped him negotiate the terrain of the FBI office while he coaxed out her childhood narratives and history. Jane helped him move into her safe house and he became her permanent sparring partner (unflinching in his duty to get her back to her original, ruthless abilities).

Jane and Roman still had roles to play beyond tracking Shepherd. As a consultant, Roman was proving invaluable to decoding the remainder of Jane's tattoos. The artwork not having lost its inherent ability to aid the country.

Roman took huge amounts of pleasure in pointing out corruption left and right; his passion to reform the country unblemished by the stain of Sandstorm's darkness. On that point, he was unable to shake Shepherd's indoctrination. He firmly believed that his country needed restoration. His fervour was abrasive, but the team had grown to respect his skills and overlook his gruff exterior… and they were working on taming his violent tendencies.

…

* * *

...

 _2 Weeks later_

Despite the setback caused by Jane's efforts to join Sandstorm's compound breach, Jane was finally getting back into form. Roman was a drill sergeant (which sometimes made her want to strangle him in his sleep) but she appreciated the discipline and threw herself into recovery.

The two of them were a sight to behold. Like dancers, their movements had the fluidity of partners who had trained together forever - and yet the ferocious and aggression of fighters unwilling to pull punches for each other. Unsurprisingly, it was during and after these training sessions where Jane and Roman felt most at ease with each other and their tentative bond strengthened in leaps and bounds.

With Roman's help, Jane had finally been cleared for active duty. She had eagerly anticipated joining the team on their latest tattoo-related mission; this time taking down a ring mercenaries. Before she could suit up, however, Kurt had relegated her to assist Patterson from the NYO office.

She had been benched. Again.

Jane listened over comms as her brother, her boyfriend and her friends infiltrated the building and faced heavy gunfire. She listened with escalating horror and frustration as the mercenaries mounted a counter-attack. The gunfire over the speakers had been chilling and terrifying as she waiting in rapt silence for the voices of her family to indicate their survival.

Jane hated it. _Hated it_.

Crescent shaped grooves dug into the flesh of her palms as Jane clenched her fists in order to keep her emotions grounded.

She should be there… she was meant to be there… they needed her. Enough of waiting uselessly to the side while she waited for someone' else's permission to join the fight. It was ridiculous bureaucratic nonsense. No more.

Once the team had indicated a return back to the building, Jane squared her shoulders and walked rigidly to Kurt's office fighting the urge to pace. She had a plan. She was going to remain calm and rational; if she gave into her frustrations the conversation would devolve into an emotionally charged personal tirade — something she (unfortunately) knew from experience. This needed to stay professional. _Well, as professional as it could be when your boyfriend was your boss._

When the team returned, Jane watched them through the glass walls with barely disguised relief. Kurt was the first to sense her gaze and give a smile in greeting. When Jane's expression remained resolute, his grin faded into a frown. He split from the group and walked determinedly towards his office ignoring the team's curious stares.

The door swung closed with a delicate whoosh enclosing the pair in a bubble of silence.

"I need you to let me do my job, Weller." Jane voice carried in the quiet but she kept her tone moderate.

"In what way am I preventing you from doing your job?" Kurt narrowed his eyes and faked obliviousness, a lie, since he was well-aware of where this was heading.

Jane stopped just short of rolling her eyes, "Don't insult us both by hedging the issue. Why won't you let me back into the field. Are you punishing me for going against your orders at the Sandstorm take down?"

Kurt cast his eyes heaven-ward with a silent prayer for tactfulness before he levelled her a penetrating stare, "Jane, I hardly think that a high-stress volatile op was the best time to throw you back into the field—"

"—I have to start somewhere," Jane interrupted her eyes sparking with suppressed exasperation. "I didn't have any issues joining the last Sandstorm mission. Besides, all our missions are dangerous; there is never going to be safe case to start with."

"I am the lead agent. It is my responsibility to decide when you are going to rejoin this team in the field." Tactfulness be damned he opted to cut her argument down with rank instead.

Jane was quiet for a second as she struggled to maintain a facade of professionalism but her voice came out low and loaded. "You don't think I can handle it? Seriously? If our past experience doesn't speak for itself, you have paperwork on your desk from the doctor, the physical therapist and Borden. I'm cleared — I _am_ ready."

"I know you feel ready, Jane. I'm just asking you to be reasonable and let me decide when _we_ are ready to make that adjustment."

"We or you?" Jane's tenuous grip on her professional veneer was slipping, "If you have any doubts on my capability please explain them and I'd be happy to disprove all of them. I'd even be thrilled to give you a personal demonstration in the training room. I have re-certified in every weapons test and annihilated everyone in hand-to-hand combat — including you!"

…

The rest of the team was spectating through the glass walls. Sipping coffee, they exchanged amused glances as they watched their boss and their friend hash out their argument. Weller and Jane were trying to keep it low key but the barely perceptible murmur of their voices through the glass was rising… and their gestures were becoming sharper and more aggressive. The ultimate pantomime.

"Weller looks uncomfortable and Jane has her angry face on — she might have him on the ropes." Reade squinted through the glass.

"Don't underestimate Weller when Jane is involved," Tasha drawled.

"Shhh, I'm trying to read their lips," Patterson flapped her hands in from of their faces to hush them, "She either said "You don't think I can handle it" or "Your goat thanks I bandaid.""

"Please," Zapata snorted, "We all saw her face when Weller assigned her to desk duty today. She's pissed because he still won't let her out in the field; it's been a couple days since she was cleared and she is chomping at the bit. He is so in the doghouse."

Roman shifted awkwardly as the team dissected every gesture and word that they could parse from their limited view. Every team had a dynamic and he was still trying to navigate this one; it didn't make it any easier when his sister was the topic of discussion.

"We should give them their privacy," Roman tried to circumvent their attention, "If we start our paperwork early that gives us more time for tonight." He was of course referring to the get-together Jane was hosting at her place to thank everyone and help welcome him into the team.

Reade and Patterson gave him mixed looks of sheepish guilt and amusement but Tasha merely gave him a shove towards the office door, "Are you kidding? If they're fighting, there might not be a party tonight — they need third party diplomacy and I am nominating you. Now, get in there and _get us details_."

…

As Roman prepared to enter the room, both Jane and Kurt were walking a fine line of emotional defensiveness as Jane pushed for official approval and Kurt tried to shut her down.

"All I'm saying, Jane, is that there is no harm in starting slow. Do you have any idea what would happen to this team if something happened to you, _again!_ " Roman knocked at the door and Weller waved him inside with relief. Roman was as protective of Jane as he was and Kurt welcomed the potential backup of an ally, "Roman, reason with your sister she trying to throw herself headlong into danger."

Jane raised her finger warningly and pierced Roman with a icy look, "Don't even think about it little brother or you will be walking to work for a month."

Roman mentally slapped himself for following Tasha's goading — this was like stepping into a hornet's nest. He understood both Jane's confused frustration as well as the reasons behind Weller's overprotective measures. But there were obvious dangers associated with siding against his currently volatile sister or his team leader with whom he still had a difficult working relationship.

Roman was rarely the level-headed one in any situation — usually Remi was the decision-maker under pressure. The hat of diplomacy sat uncomfortably on his head as Roman started with Jane, "Well, _big sister_ , as formidable as you are — this team worries about you a lot. From what I've seen they have spent months watching your slow recoveries and set-backs; it's hard for them not to see you as fragile. Now think about that tactically. Can this team work at its best capacity if they are crippled with the liability of unnecessary concerns? We both know there is no room for that in a situation that requires split-second decisions."

Jane bit her lip. She grudgingly accepted his rationale, she may feel fully recovered but she worked with a unit — a team had to be cohesive to be effective. Perhaps she hadn't factored in the emotional baggage of her recovery. Still, trust could only be built through time, practice and awareness — keeping her out of the field would not help anything.

"Thank you, Roman," Weller crossed his arms a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, sensing victory, "That is exactly what I have been trying to explain."

Roman raised his eyebrows at Weller and turned the tables, "And yet, Weller, we both know that keeping Jane out of the field will only obfuscate the problem. We both know how Jane hates to stand aside when she sees people she cares about in danger. My sister knows her limitations — she's your best asset, she is ready and you can't keep holding her back."

"No, you can't." Jane placed her hands determinedly on Kurt's desk, sensing a victory of her own.

Kurt frowned at the siblings, "I know you're strong, Jane, but that is cold comfort when I think that the last time you were ready to go out into the field you were taken by Keaton."

"I'm ready, Kurt — you can't hide me here forever.

"She's a soldier — besides," Roman grimaced and rubbed his shoulder painfully, "she's beaten us all without exception and, I don't know about you but, I am no longer willing to be a punching bag."

Kurt bit back a chuckled and the two men shared a silent inside joke.

Jane's eyes flitted back and force as she watched Roman talk to Kurt. It was strange — the two started out barely communicating with each other and grudgingly cooperating. Every mission had been a tug of war as Kurt tried to exert control over her brother and in return Roman fought his instincts to rebel against FBI instruction.

She had been their only point of commonality. In the beginning the only thing that had found to agree on besides ending Sandstorm, was the importance of her healing and safety; it was annoying really.

But from that had grown a strange partnership and reluctant teamwork as they worked together to take down Sandstorm and help her through recovery. She had relished the moments where they cooperated even as she chafed at the restrictions they tried to impose. But, fascinated, she watched as the tentative trust between them grew.

"As fun as it is to watch you two bond, it is annoying when you talk about me _right in front of me_."

"You're right, Jane, I'm sorry." Kurt took a deep breathe, "I will take your arguments into consideration and we will figure out a game plan to bring you back into fieldwork."

The answer was vague and placating. It was not the answer Jane wanted. Through clenched lips Jane smiled thinly, "Thank you for your consideration I look forward to discussing it with you in detail, until you concede defeat." She stood and turned back to her brother, "Are you still up for tonight, Roman?"

Roman reined in his smile — tonight was now full of potential entertainment, "Sure, sis — wouldn't miss it."

On her way out the door, Jane tossed back, "Kurt, you're still invited too."

Unable to hold back the chuckle at Kurt's wince, Roman laughed, "I tried, Weller. You didn't really think you could stick her on desk duty forever and she wouldn't fight you on it, did you? Good luck, man."

Kurt shook his head, "She can't hate me forever— without me, all the guests would starve. I'm the one doing the damn cooking!"

…

* * *

So my story is almost done. I have left Shepherd unresolved because I loved this story and am interested in keeping it open for a potential sequel if I ever get a good idea for it.

I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter - especially the bit of levity at the end (too much fun to write).

…

* * *

I have once again tallied the votes — it looks as though the story that the most people are interested in is….

3\. Kurt is forced to make a choice between the lives of Jane and Nas. Jane is well—aware of where she stands with the team and refuses to be the reason that someone else dies. An alternative version of winter finale

 **THANK YOU** to everyone who voted. Because it was  INCREDIBLY close (literally like a 2 vote difference in both chapters of voting) and so many readers showed an interest in option 1 as well, I am going to attempt to write these stories simultaneously (with priority to the winning story). I also have received a brainstorm for a few one-shots following the most recent finale. So hopefully that will give everyone something (interesting?) to read in the future.

…

* * *

 **Out-takes?**

Also, on my previous story I found that writing "out-takes" was a fun way of filling out and finishing a story. I would be completely willing to add out-takes to this story. As you guys were reading, were there any scenes you wished I had written or any potential out-take ideas?


	27. Happy

Wow. I just realized this story got to 27 chapters. That is amazing to me — everyone who has taken the time to read this story has my unending gratitude. I am so humbled and awed by everyone's reviews and favourites and follows.

* * *

These characters deserve a lovely happy ending, don't you think?

...

Chapter 27

Happy

...

It was dusk and the streetlights were just starting to turn on when Kurt pulled up to Jane and Roman's apartment. His arms were full of bags stuffed with ingredients and supplies yet he paused at the threshold. Normally, he wouldn't think anything of inviting himself through the door; he was a welcome and frequent visitor. But he wasn't sure how welcome he would be after his "disagreement" with Jane earlier that day.

 _Tread carefully_

After everything, he knew— they all knew— that Jane could handle herself and was more than ready to rejoin the team. She was healed and capable; he didn't have sufficient grounds to prevent her from doing her job. He was forced to confront the niggling feeling of guilt that had gnawed into his brain since their "discussion."

Kurt hated to admit when he was wrong but he could not deny that, in this case, his judgement was biased and clouded — and clearly, this was not the first time he had let his emotions influence his decisions when it came to Jane. It wasn't fair to her and it certainly didn't do himself any favours either. Now he would have to own up to it.

The fact was, that Jane always evoked strong feelings and stronger reactions in him. She had since the very beginning and, honestly, she likely always would.

Kurt's mind travelled back over the last months and he could hardly believe how much had changed. Jane had been a broken woman, damaged and silent, whose suffering had nearly crushed him with guilt and shame. But her healing had likewise mended all those around her. She had bound them all together, no longer merely a team but a family. They had defeated their enemies, Keaton and Sandstorm, and had added Roman to their ranks.

She was back in his life - not just in his life but in his heart and in his arms. Jane had become the gravity that kept him standing on solid ground and Kurt was happy to build his world around her. And now that she was back in action, he would have to learn to temper his protectiveness with trust and respect. Otherwise, he _would_ lose her and that thought left him paralyzed.

It was the feeling of his arms growing numb that brought Kurt back to the present. He felt like a prized idiot standing there staring at her front door for so long. He was the Assistant Director of the New York office of the FBI - _man up_. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. Awkwardly Kurt juggled the bags until he was able to tap his knuckles against the wood.

After a minute the door slowly opened to reveal Jane. She feigned obliviousness and queried mildly, "Yes, can I help you?"

Kurt shrugged his heavy-laden arms, "Peace offering?"

"For…" she prodded.

"For delaying letting you join the team in the field. It wasn't fair for me to make that decision without an explanation — I just wasn't prepared for how I would feel at the thought of you in danger again. I'm sorry, Jane." The words came out gruff but honest and Kurt hoped she could see the truth in his eyes.

She took a deep deliberative breathe and wrinkled her nose, "Damn it, Kurt. When you put it like that it makes it so hard to stay mad at you."

"It's all part of the charm," he dimpled roguishly and moved to step forward.

"Wait!" Her hand shot out to halt his progress; she would not be distracted by the disarming smile this time. "What does this mean for work on Monday?"

"It means," he sighed and gave her the wordy spiel, "That you are formally reinstated to join the team for fieldwork — you knew that's what I meant."

"I just wanted to hear the official words," she crowed triumphantly and took one of the bags of groceries.

"Fragile flower that I am, I'm crushed at the legalistic attitude." He called from behind.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll survive" Jane turned and winked cheekily, "Besides, it's all part of the charm."

Kurt paused and narrowed his eyes gamely. If she wanted to play that way, who was he to resist? He dropped the food on the floor and took off after her, "You're going down, Doe."

Jane dumped her bag on the counter and bolted down the hall shrieking as Kurt gave chase. His blood heated as he darted after his girlfriend. He was blindsided by a pillow to the face in the bedroom but he gained ground in the living room and tackled her on the couch. Kurt tickled her mercilessly until she giggled her surrender and pulled him down for a kiss.

Her small hands fisted his shirt to keep him close before reaching up to cup his cheek and burrow in his hair. He inhaled between parted lips, his gaze devouring her wide eyes and blushing cheeks. Framing her face, he let himself get drunk on the taste of her mouth, her body beneath his and the touch of her hands on his skin. When he exhaled, his breath shuddered and he reined in his control. Stupid _stupid_ dinner party. If it weren't for the surprise he had planned, he would tell them all to stay home and book Roman into a hotel.

…

* * *

...

Swaying gently to the music, Jane lit candles and straightened the living room. The appetizers were set out and dinner was cooking in the oven emitting a delicious aroma. She let her eyes wander across the room and fall upon memories and traces of her new life. Tangible and emotional proof.

The book that Reade had loaned her last week, lay bookmarked on the coffee table. The boardgames that Patterson had left behind from Games Night so that she and Roman could "practice" for next time. Stubs from a basketball game that Tasha had dragged them to shared space in a picture frame with a photo of her and Kurt grinning goofily at the camera.

Taking up far too much room on the couch were two giant stuffed animals from the carnival. She and Roman had gone together and attempted to outdo each other at a shooting game. Naturally, she beat him, but their sharpshooting had gotten them both their choice of the largest prizes. She had chosen a dragon and Roman a flamingo. Her face pressed into an automatic smile at all the ribbing he got for his choice.

This hardly felt real - almost like a dream come true, right down to Kurt making dinner in the kitchen.

 _Forgiveness. Closure. Healing. Hope. Family. Friends. Life._

They had all seemed so far out of her reach — so unattainable even in her dreams. To have it now left her drowning in gratitude. Jane wished she could wrap up this feeling in a box or bottle it so that whenever life got hard she could open it up and remember this moment. The moment she realized that this is what happiness feels like.

 _Love and happiness._

Turning a full circle, Jane peaked back at the kitchen to enjoy the view; Kurt was drizzling the bright red topping on the cheesecake, his white sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms, and brows slightly furrowed as he focused on the task.

She sidled up beside him and curled her hand around his hip. With her chin perched on his shoulder she breathed in his ear and felt him shudder, "Can I help?"

Kurt gripped her hand and twirled her around before offering her the spatula to lick, "Want a taste?"

It was too tempting to resist. Smiling widely she tossed her curls before bypassing the spatula in his hand. Jane hooked her arm around his neck for a kiss instead and felt his responding smile and hum of appreciation at her choice. Jolting them out of the moment, the doorbell rang — they jerked apart in surprise and groaned.

"Later," Kurt promised while Jane attempted to straighten her hair. He pressed a kiss against her forehead and called out, "Come in."

Roman's head popped through the door and he apprehensively entered the apartment, "All clear? Don't want to interrupt another fight or anything… else."

Kurt rolled his eyes and fired back, "You have all the subtly of a hand grenade, Roman. Remind me of this moment when we need volunteers for the fourth of July picnic."

Roman raised his hands in surrender, "I can leave…"

"No!" Jane interrupted before turning to Kurt with a pointed look, "No. You're right on time — everyone will be here soon anyway. Besides, this is your home too. Come and help me get some drinks out."

No sooner had she spoken then Reade and Tasha stumbled through the door, "The party has ARRIVED!"

"We brought wine. Ooh everything smells amazing." Patterson gushed as she came up from behind with Borden in tow carrying the extra drinks.

"Roman, what do you think of the place? Settling in? Nice flamingo."

"Hand me a beer, after my day today, I will _not_ be the designated driver…"

Jane distanced herself from the boisterous chatter to take in the scene. Tasha and Reade were arguing over a fact in the case, both trying to get Roman to agree with their version of events. Roman was egging both of them on, with the easy manipulation of younger siblings everywhere. Meanwhile Patterson was unsuccessfully trying to break up the "work talk" by starting a game. Jane pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Kurt's bristled cheek pressed against her temple as he came up behind her a wrapped his arms around her waist. His scent enveloped her. He smelled like home; the spices he used to cook dinner, pine soap and faintly of her own shampoo. She tilted her head back to catch his eye when he asked softly, "What are you thinking about?"

Jane hummed in contentment and leaned back into his chest, "I'm happy."

"Happy?" Kurt hugged her closer.

Turning in his arms Jane slid her arms around his neck and lifted on her toes to press a delicate kiss on his lips. "Really happy."

…

Reade nudged Roman in the shoulder, "I'm just going to throw this out there — no pressure. But, if you want to get a ride with me, you can crash on my couch tonight."

Roman cocked his head confused, "What do you…" He followed Reade's exaggerated nod and silently groaned in acknowledgement. His sister and Kurt were wrapped up in each other's arms with eyes only for each other. He dragged his palm down his face with an eye roll. "Thanks man, I'm probably going to take you up on that."

He did not want to even think about… that… going on in the next room while he was trying to sleep. All the sleeping pills in the world would not be enough to prevent that traumatizing episode. He loved his sister and he loved living with her, but the sooner Jane moved in with Weller, the better.

A timer chimed loudly in the kitchen. "Alright, dinner's ready. Take a seat."

With the team together, the apartment swelled with chatter and laughter. Drinks were poured, food consumed, jokes were told and smiles shared. The warmth and comfort that is only felt when among the dearest of friends and the closest of family.

…

* * *

...

As the end of the night drew near, Kurt stood and raised his glass, "A toast to our newest team member. Welcome, Roman, we are grateful to have you with us. Here's to our expanded family and to the future."

"Here Here!" voices rose in friendly agreement as they raised their glasses.

Words bubbled over as they began to jokingly add their own toasts. The serious mood devolving into hilarity and laughter.

"Here's to actually using our vacation days."

"Here's to quiet Friday nights."

"Here's to Weller paying for drink's next weekend."

Weller let them have their fun before interrupting with a grin, "Hold it. Hold it. I've got one more announcement to make — and, no, it's not an acceptance to pay for drinks. As we all know, Jane and Roman have made a lot of sacrifices to help this country and have endured a lot of suffering because of it. I can't undo what's happened in the past but I wanted to do my best to make sure it will never happen again."

Jane slipped her hand into his empty one and squeezed, "You don't have to do anything, Kurt, it wasn't your fault—"

Kurt kept her hand securely in his own and met her gaze squarely, "I wanted to do this for you — both of you." He turned and nodded to Roman before continuing, "Patterson and I looked thoroughly for documentation on you two from when Shepherd brought you into the country. I'm sorry to say that we found no trace; it's likely that she destroyed the paper trail. However, due to your exceptional service and assistance in shutting down the largest domestic terrorist group in the country I was given approval to procure Jane and Roman new, official identities that recognize you both as citizens of the United States. And with them access to all the rights and freedoms afforded to the citizens of this country."

Roman welcomed the news with pats on the back and open gratitude. The past few years had been littered with false identities and fake documentation; for him a new identity did not hold the same cachet. But he appreciated the gesture as a symbol of acceptance and the chance at a clean slate. With a real identity he would be able to move on with his life as a new man.

Jane's grip on Kurt had become so strong that he was slowly losing circulation in his left hand. The team had fallen into a congratulatory buzz, giving the couple a moment to absorb the news.

Her green eyes watered with emotion, "That's — I can't — You have no idea what this means to me. _Thank you_ , Kurt."

"I would do anything to protect you, Jane." He pressed his forehead against hers, "I figured the best way to do that would be to give you as much proof as I could that you belong with us— with me."

"I exist" Jane's eyes glimmered.

"Of course you exist," he laughed, "I'd hate to think I've been kissing a figment of my imagination."

"Yeah, but now I exist on paper. I have rights, I can get my license and vote and get…" she trailed off and blushed.

"Get…?" he prodded, searching her face.

"Hey, you two, stop canoodling and start celebrating. We are not a big enough party that we can easily ignore your heart-eyes moments for longer than three minutes at a time." Tasha broke through their bubble and Jane ducked her head.

Reade rolled his eyes and knocked Tasha's shoulder. Sometimes he felt he was the only one on this team with actual social skills. "So, speaking of new identities, what names are you guys going to use?"

Jane's wrinkled her nose, "What's wrong with Jane?"

"Nothing's wrong with 'Jane,' or 'Roman' for that matter," Patterson smoothly covered, "But you might raise a few eyebrows if you introduce yourself as 'Jane Doe.'"

Jane met Roman's eyes and shrugged helplessly. "You choose, Roman, what last name do you want?"

Roman paused and stared thoughtfully out the window for a moment. When he answered the words came out slow and hesitant, "I think— I think it would be good to be Kruger again."

Jane rose from her chair and knelt beside her brother to envelope him in a hug, "Me too," she whispered.

Patterson raised her glass, "To Jane and Roman Kruger!"

Everyone stood and toasted, "To Jane and Roman!"

...

* * *

Hopefully that made you all feel warm and gooey inside. I had a lot of fun writing the happy fluffy joy.

I you liked it :)

* * *

Ever since the first episode of season 2, right before the motel fight, when Jane has the pointed the gun at Weller's head and she says "I don't exist, Kurt, I don't have a passport, I don't have a birth certificate — I have _no_ rights." The hopelessness and the frustration was just so sharp. I knew that this story could not end with her getting that sense of security. Kudos to the reviewers that pointed it out early on in this story.

* * *

Dear readers, this story is almost over. But there's still at least one more chapter and I am plotting my next story (it's actually quite sad how much I am letting the plotting consume me). I'm also still putting together some out-takes for this story as well - so it's not over quite yet.

If you are struck by any ideas for out-takes let me know.


	28. Epilogue

I'm sad but oddly proud to say that we've reached the conclusion of the story. Please read my note below. Everyone who has read this story to it's end deserves my awe-struck gratitude.

I hope you enjoy the happy feels and humour that our favourite characters deserve after this long and angsty road.

* * *

...

Epilogue

...

 _Three Months Later_

"That! _That_ right there is what I'm talking about. They are nauseatingly adorable."

Patterson looked up and stared shamelessly at their favourite couple as they stepped off the elevator. Weller had curved his arm around Jane's waist and steered her to the side of the door to finish their conversation. They usually tried to keep it professional at work. " _Tried_ " being the operative word.

They were still wrapped up in their moment and hadn't noticed anyone's eyes on them. One of them must have said something funny because both their faces were crinkled in open smiles and tilted back in laughter.

They watched as Kurt teased Jane, swept a curl behind her ear and dropping a brief kiss on forehead. Jane hooked her fingers around his tie before he could step away, in a lowered voice, she murmured something in his ear. Tasha laughed as Jane grinned cheekily at his dumbstruck expression before smoothing the creases of his shirt and sauntering away to her desk.

"Weller doesn't often blush. I wonder what she said to make his ears turn red like that," Tasha queried wickedly.

Patterson's head snapped away from the scene to her friend and she pinned her with terrified eyes, "I'm begging you - please don't ask. I really— no. I really don't want to know."

The two agents headed Jane off before she could reach her desk and snagged her attention.

"Morning Jane, I think you two have to give up the ghost and make it official." Tasha teased as she handed Jane a muffin from the coffee shop down the road.

Jane cocked her head with wrinkled her brow, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Patterson snickered, "There's no point in pretending, Jane. She's talking about the same thing we've been talking about for the last month. It's obvious that you and Weller are living together."

Jane dropped the muffin with a scowl, "We are _not_. Kurt has his apartment and I am happy at my safe house with Roman."

"Yeah, you've _said_ that and yet… the evidence says otherwise. You guys are still basically joined at the hip," Patterson argued with a smile.

Enunciating her words slowly, Jane emphasized with her hands, "But, I just told you that…"

"Oh, we heard you. But let us illuminate the state of affairs with some simple questions." Tasha wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, "How many nights a week do you spend with each other?"

"That's a stupid question and completely unrelated to the subject," Jane evaded.

Conferring with Patterson, Tasha nodded with mock solemnity, "I'm going to safely assume by your sarcastic non-response that the answer is 5-7 nights a week."

Jane opened her mouth as if to argue and then snapped it shut.

Clearing her throat theatrically, Patterson took over, "Next question. Would you say that the majority of your stuff is at his apartment?"

"That's not a reasonable question — I don't have a lot of stuff."

"That is true. Having fewer items does make it easier to migrate your stuff to his place." Tasha acquiesced, "Actually, that's something we should make a project this weekend. But coming back to the subject…"

When Jane refused to respond she gave a satisfied nod. "I thought so. Moving on, do you spend the majority of your free time together."

"We don't _have_ free time — we work all the time" Jane deadpanned. Patterson and Tasha merely crossed their arms and waited for a real answer. Jane mirrored their stance and crossed her own arms before defending weakly, "I spend time with you guys and with Roman."

"And we do enjoy that _rare_ time with you" Tasha patted her shoulder sarcastically to make her laugh, "— because we both know where you are spending the majority of your time. Or rather, _who_ you are spending it with."

"These questions are ridiculous — they don't mean anything."

"Take a deep breathe." Patterson slung her arm around her friend's shoulder, "You're right, Jane, they don't mean anything unless you want them to. The questions merely reveal some interesting facts. We are just happy for you and thought you might like to think about it."

"Yeah, keep cuddling your illusions like a security blanket, but just know that _we_ are not fooled."

Jane picked up her muffin and chucked it at Tasha's head. With serene dignity she proceeded to her desk ignoring the muffled snickers in her wake.

…

Roman peered over his monitor as Jane took her seat at the neighbouring desk, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Jane bit out and busied herself with the paperwork on her desk. He continued to stare at her expectantly until she sighed and relented, "Tasha and Patterson were just teasing me about how much time Kurt and I are spending together. Apparently, we might as well move in together."

Roman jerked in his chair, his face the picture of bewilderment and gaping shock, "You mean… you aren't living with him? But—but — where have you been living?"

Jane stuttered, confused by his reaction until Roman's face cracked into a toothy grin. Her mouth pursed and curled down, not amused by his joke _at all._ "Hardy har har, you are _hilarious_ — I _love_ being the butt of everyone's amusement."

"Oh come on, you love me. And I was only partly joking… admit it, you hardly spend the night at the apartment anymore and when you do, Weller's with you — not that I'm complaining. I'm happy for you."

"It's just - What if he hates living with me? Or he gets tired of seeing me all day, everyday at work and then at home? What if we really make a go of it and then… everything falls apart?"

She really had no idea… Roman kept his face neutral.

…

 _The previous weekend, Kurt had invited him to hang out at a pub they both liked. Tasha and Patterson had dragged Jane out for a girl's night and Reade was giving a series of lectures at Quantico._

 _For all intents and purposes it had been a casual invite out of the blue to give them both something to do on a quiet night. But Weller's suggestion was a little too nonchalant and Roman far too well trained to pick up on his tension._

 _It wasn't a big game night and the pub less crowded than usual. They made small talk and watched the large screen above the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Kurt Weller, Assistant Director of the FBI, tapped his foot and fiddled with his watch never quite relaxing._

 _As fun as it was to watch the normally serious man gather his nerve, he might as well get the ball rolling. "So, Weller, what'd you want to ask me?"_

 _Kurt's beer hit the counter with a clunk and he shot Roman a measuring look, "I want to marry your sister."_

 _"_ _I know."_

 _"_ _You know?"_

 _Roman expression turned wolfishly and he quipped, "Weller, I've been watching you for years. I know you better than you know yourself." He took another sip, "More than that, I've seen the way you treat my sister - it's almost nauseating really. It wasn't rocket science to guess where this was headed."_

 _"_ _Thanks," Kurt groaned sarcastically._

 _"_ _So what do you want? My permission?" He finished his beer and gestured to the bartender for another, "Because Remi would be livid over the idea of two men deciding her future."_

 _"_ _Jane cares about you and you're an important part of her life." Kurt pierced the younger man with a serious expression before declaring, "I'm going to ask her no matter what you say, but your blessing would be nice."_

 _"_ _Sure, you've got it."_

 _"_ _I've—," Kurt paused and shook his head expecting more, "That's all you have to say?"_

 _Roman clapped his hand on Kurt's shoulder, "Weller, If I didn't know for certain, that you had no idea what went on in that black site. You would already be in hell - as it is, I'm sure the memory of what she went through due to your negligence should serve as a haunting reminder to never let harm come to her again. If you hurt —"_

 _"—_ _If I hurt her, you'll kill me," Kurt knowingly concluded the younger man's thought._

 _"_ _Oh no," Roman's grip tightened like a vice and his blue eyes iced over, "People always say stuff like that — it's so amateurish and rarely actualized. I would ruin your life so thoroughly that you would wish for death. You would spend the rest of your long, miserable life in hell, futilely trying to claw yourself back into the light of day. Tortured with the knowledge that the world despised you and you would never see Jane again."_

 _Kurt pried Roman's hand off of his arm and crushed it in his fist, "You know, Roman, I understand how protective you are of your sister and because of that, I'll let that comment slide. I'll protect Jane with my life; and if you threaten to separate us again I'll have to break you."_

 _The choking tension dissipated when Roman started laughing, "Good. You'll do. So when are gonna ask her?"_

 _"_ _I'm hoping for the end of the summer or the fall. I'm waiting until she's ready to believe that this is real," Kurt sighed. "Baby steps."_

 _Roman snorted, "You could start by convincing her that you two are actually living together."_

 _Kurt shook his head and jokingly swore back at him and added, "I'm respecting her desire for independence."_

 _"_ _You're whipped," he rolled his eyes in snarky response._

 _They settled back into watching the game stopping now and then to comment on their favourite players or loudly protest their losses. As the pub emptied out, they settled the tab and paused outside the entrance. They lived in opposite directions so this would be goodbye._

 _Roman offered his hand to shake, "I never thought I'd be okay with having you as a brother."_

 _"_ _Likewise," Kurt nodded and shook his hand before pulling him in for a hug._

 _"_ _You sure you want to be a part of this family?"_

 _"_ _Without a doubt"_

…

Roman snaps out of his reverie, "Just tell him how you're feeling. I promise everything will work out fine. You guys are a walking talking fairy tale and Weller is disgustingly head over heals for you. Believe me. If by some bizarre twist of fate, he doesn't want to live with you, then I will kick his ass and you will move back in with me."

She rose hesitantly to her and stared unsurely at Weller's office, "Now?"

"Man up, Kruger." He barked and gave her a shove, "Just go talk to him."

Roman tried to give them some privacy. He settled into his desk and dove into the mountainous stack of paperwork on his desk. Reports were possibly the worst thing about joining the FBI — that, and accountability. His musings were cut short by a crescendo of sound the swept through the office.

Wolf whistles, whoops, cheers, stomps and applause swelled like a chorus. Roman turned and leant his own whistle and humorous heckling to the crowd as, through the glass walls, he watched his sister and his boss share a passionate kiss in his office.

To the amusement of the onlookers, Jane smiled shyly before biting her lip and ducking her head into her boyfriend's chest. Kurt rolled his eyes and tried to appear stern but couldn't lose the sappy grin. He embraced the audience with good humour before waving everyone back to their jobs.

 _I guess their officially living together._

 _..._

The End

…

* * *

 **Dear readers,**

 **Thank you so much for reading my story. When I started writing fan fiction in the fall, I never thought that I would ever end up writing something this long or that people would actually take any interest in it. To have completed something this long is mind-blowing to me and I couldn't, _wouldn't_ have been able to do it without you guys.**

 **Honestly, you have no idea how much your comments, favourite and follows have kept me motivated to keep going when I was at a low point. If you have taken the time to read my story all the way to this point, you are amazing.**

 **I would love to know if you enjoyed it or any other thoughts you had while reading it.**

 **I'm looking forward to writing another story and to Blindspot season 3. Thank you again for reading.**

 **Ness**

* * *

P.S. I am still planning on out-takes for this story sometime soon, so don't be surprised if another chapter or two pops up.


	29. Outtakes

**Hi everyone,**

 **I'm sorry for falling off the face of the earth, this took me far longer to post than I anticipated. However, those jaw-dropping promos for Blindspot season 3 were just AMAZING. I am so unbelievably excited for this new season and super inspired get back to writing.**

 **And I have to add. There have been some amazing stories posted here over the past few months. Wow, this fandom is the BEST and everyone is so creative. I have been awed by your amazing ideas and insightful theories. I live in hope that some of them will be realized in the actual show.**

 **With all the fluffy Jeller feels, I'm not sure if there is still room for the heavy angst in this story. In lieu of that, there are two outtakes in this chapter. One that is heavy and one that is much more light, to get the best of both worlds.**

 **My heart-felt thanks to anyone still reading this story**

 **I hope you enjoy**

* * *

…

Deleted Scene:

Why didn't you scream?

...

This was a question I desperately wanted Kurt to ask Jane in my story but could never find the right space to put it. So here we go…

Time Frame: Takes place after chapter 23, the Nightmares episode. Jane and Kurt have opened up to each other about healing and moving forward together, but still experiencing some nightmares.

* * *

…

 _Blood was pounding in his ears and his breathe gasped erratically as Kurt watched helplessly. They were hurting her. Jane was illuminated as if under a spotlight. Her body dangled, slack and vulnerable, to the vicious beating granted her by Keaton and his goons. Their actions cast grotesque shadows in the light, showing the monsters within._

 _They weren't holding back the punches but she never screamed. He couldn't see her face under the dark hood but fresh bruises bloomed across her skin beneath the ragged jumpsuit. There was no sound except for the sickening rhythm of fist against flesh._

 _He was certain they were going to kill her._

 _He needed to make them stop. He needed to save her._

 _But Kurt was trapped behind glass. His feet were cemented to the floor. His hands dripped thickly with blood from trying to break through the barrier. His voice felt raw from the shouting obscenities and pleas that poured from his lips. But it did no good._

 _He was powerless._

 _It couldn't get any worse… until it did._

 _All of a sudden Keaton and his men froze as the basement door flew open with a startling bang. Kurt recognized himself leading the team into the room. It was the moment they had infiltrated the blacksite. He sagged in relief, pressing against the glass waiting for his moment of redemption. He watched in rapt attention as he exchanged clipped conversation with Keaton._

 _Kurt expected Tasha discovered Jane and her inevitable rescue... but it never happened. Horror chilled his blood as he witnessed himself shaking hands with Keaton and turn to guide the team back up the stairs._

 _NO!_

 _He desperate threw his body against the glass and yelled, "Turn back! She's there —she's right there!" Say something, Jane. Do anything! Jane! JANE!"_

 _The door slammed shut. She was sealed in the basement tomb. As if nothing happened, the torture began anew._

 _The world spun and the black site faded away but he never stopped screaming._

...

"Kurt, please wake up. I'm here. I'm safe." Soft words cajoled in his ear over and over as gentle hands shook him awake and away from the dark dream.

Kurt coughed roughly, his voice strained, "Jane?" he gasped, "Where— are you okay?"

"I'm fine, you were having a nightmare," Jane's green eyes glowed in the lamplight only inches from his own. Concern coloured her tone and stretched across her face. "It was a bad one, you were screaming my name."

"I'm sorry," he groaned and pulled her tightly in his arms. Reassuring himself that she was safe and whole and close, Kurt buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in.

"Don't be sorry. It's not like I haven't had more than my fair share." She murmured into his neck, pressing a light kiss beneath his ear. "I'll get you want some water."

"No." He refused to release her giving her a weak grin, "Stay with me."

Jane read the anxiety in his face and snuggled against him. She tucked her head beneath his chin and lay her palm against his heart, knowing that it would help ground him faster. "Do you want to talk about it."

 _Yes._ "No."

"Are you sure?"

 _Yes!_

"I… I want to ask you something about the black site." Kurt paused and waited for Jane's response. He felt her breathe catch in her throat but she said nothing. He pressed onward, "I promised myself, that I wasn't going to push you to talk about it unless you initiated first. So, if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

Kurt almost thought she wouldn't answer but after a long pause Jane offered faintly, "What do you want to know?"

"I keep reliving the moment where we find you in that basement, except it goes wrong. Zapata never sees you and we leave you down there without ever realizing you were there. It terrifies me how close I was to never saving you — so many things might have prevented it— you could have _died_." His voice trailed off into an agonized whisper.

"— but you did find me. I'm right here with you. I'm fine…"

Kurt's hand latched onto the one she had resting on his heart. He laced his fingers between her own, anchoring Jane to him as he whispered the question that had tormented him for months. The question that haunted him since her rescue. "Why didn't you make a sound when we arrived at the black site. Why didn't you ask us for help or let us know you were there?"

He could feel her pulling away. Tonelessly her words fell between them, "Knowing won't make you feel better…"

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. He still needed to know. With a shuddering sigh, Jane rolled away from him to her side of the bed. Her absence felt cold and empty but he knew she needed space. Their clasped hands were the only thing connecting them.

Slowly words fell stintingly from Jane's lips. "When you came, I recognized your voices right away. I thought I was hallucinating again," she chuckled darkly. "I had buried myself so deep — to protect myself. But when I heard you, I let myself surface because I had to _know_ if it was true. It seemed impossible that you had really come all that way… after all that time… _"_

Kurt didn't know what else to do but squeeze her hand to let her know she wasn't alone.

 _"_ I _almost_ said something, I could feel the words in my throat. I wanted to, and then—" Jane cringed and bowed her head, "And then I listened."

He shouldn't have asked her. This was too cruel. It was taking superhuman effort not to cradle her in his arms and make her forget he ever said anything. "Jane, we don't…"

She cut him off, "—When you started talking to Keaton, I realized that you didn't know I was there. You didn't know what you had stumbled into or who Keaton was." Her voice became small and rasped, "You weren't there _for me_. It was some sort of sadistic coincidence. It… I felt… shattered."

"Sweetheart," Kurt reached out but she pulled further away and curled away from him. Their hands stretched and strained but remained locked together. He moved as close as he dared.

Jane became more emotionless-detached, as if trying to maintain a distance from the words but her grip on his hands had tightened painfully. "I felt so stupid. Of course you weren't there to rescue me. I didn't deserve to be saved, not after what I had done. As far as I knew, you wanted me to be in CIA custody — probably even wanted me to be tortured. I was so afraid that if you found out I was there… that it wouldn't change anything. You might have been pleased with it, or joined in, or left me there. I—" she faltered, "I wouldn't have been able to survive it. So I didn't say anything."

"Jane," he had no words, "I'm sorry," Kurt's chest felt hollow at her admissions. It was worse than he had imagined. How she had ever brought herself to trust them again was staggering. Using their clasped hands he tugged and rolled her back until she was facing him and he could wrap himself around her.

"I'm fine, Kurt. It's fine. Everything's okay now." Jane's reassurances fell flat because she still wouldn't look him in the eye.

He brushed a reverent kiss against her forehead and tilted her chin up until her eyes flicked up to meet his own. "Thank you for telling me, for trusting me. I will never forgive myself for allowing you to end up in that place, with him."

"We were both at fault… I've made some terrible decisions that have hurt you too." Jane smiled ruefully and shook her head. "But we save each other too. Thank you for bringing me home."

"I will always come for you, Jane. I will always be on your side."

"Always?"

"Always."

...

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….

Deleted Scene:

Anything you can do, I can do better

...

I am so sad that Roman is turning out to be the main villain in season 3. I am glad that his character is returning though, and I am still maintaining hope that there is going to be a redemptive arc for him. (You have no idea how much.) So, I am taking advantage of the fact that my fic has a very AU Roman redemption. Enjoy some adorable sibling bonding :)

Time frame: In chapter 27, "Happy," Jane mentions the two giant stuffed animals that she and Roman won at a carnival. Of course, that needed to be elaborated.

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Roman had been fixating on cornering one of Shepherd's top associates. He had become obsessive and moody; he hadn't left the office in a couple days. Hoping to distract him, Jane dragged him out for an evening of fun. She picked something guaranteed to make him smile.

Coney Island. Just the two of them.

Of course, as adrenaline junkies they raced through the roller coasters first. Giggling like children they elbowed each other and waited impatiently to sit in the front of each ride and then competed to make the silliest faces for the pictures. Carefree and rowdy, their antics brought a few surprised looks but mostly smiles from the onlookers. Not that they noticed.

When they had hit all the coasters and fast-paced rides, Jane and Roman opted to consume their weight in carnival fare. They sampled everything from funnel cake to cotton candy to deep-fried… everything.

"You're going to get sick if you all of that," Jane rolled her eyes at her brother's full plate of deep-fried cheesecake.

"I have a cast-iron stomach, thank you very much. You're just jealous that you only got the small one," he stuck out his tongue and dug in with sarcastic enthusiasm.

She served him a light punch to the stomach, "Brat," and proceeded to steal from his plate.

...

Lost in the loud carnival music and bright lights, they strolled along the booths and games. They mused on the probabilities of winning and what the best prizes were.

"Did we ever go to a carnival when we were kids. Did Shepherd ever take us?" Jane asked curiously.

"Shepherd wasn't one for frivolities. She kept our schedule fairly regimented to keep us in line and focused." Roman paused and shot Jane a conspiratorial grin, "But you were always pushing boundaries. You used to sneak us out for adventures."

"Adventures?" Jane's eyes sparkled, intrigued. "Like what?"

"Oh, you always thought of something. We climbed out our window and would go running in the park or go swimming in the ocean. You snuck me out of school and we would explore the city or take the train. One time we did go to a small fair, nothing like this though." Roman paused thoughtfully and slung his arm over her shoulder, "You were always looking out for me. I think you wanted to give me a chance to be like a regular kid."

Jane wanted to ask if they ever got caught and what Shepherd thought of their excursions but she held back. Today was a good day; she didn't want to ruin it.

"Sounds like I was a _terrible_ influence on you," Jane teased until her eyes caught on something in the corner of her eye. "Oh! That prize is huge."

Roman followed her gaze. It was a massive stuffed dragon, dark green with golden details and a toothy grin. He saw the wistful twist of her mouth and recognized the longing in her eyes. Shepherd didn't allow them a lot of clutter or excess. For their birthdays they got weapons or educational tools. They learned not to desire what they couldn't have.

Remi had found ways to sneak him treats… chocolate or little toys, but she rarely indulged herself.

But they were adults now. The burden of his past, rolled off his shoulders and a grin crept across his face. They were free and Clear.

They could live any way they wanted.

Roman dragged Jane over to the booth. "I bet one of us could win that ridiculous thing," He looked over the game and rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. "It's a target shooting gallery. I got this," he boasted. "That thing is _mine_."

"It wouldn't be fair, Roman." Jane chided even as she dug into her pocket for the fee.

"Fair to whom? The booth guy?" he scoffed and handed the operator his money in exchange for the rifle replica. "Don't be silly they charge people a fortune for the slim chance of winning cheap toys. They can handle to lose one or two stuffed animals."

"Oh no," Jane clarified seriously and grabbed her own weapon, "to you. Because there's no way you're going to beat me."

"Oh, it's on."

"Concede while you can. You're going down, little brother."

With easy precision they took aim. The booth operator gaped in shock as the targets dropped in seamless succession. When they took out every single target without error, he reset the game and they began again. And again. And again. By the final round they had garnered quite a crowd but never lost focus.

It would have been a tie, but Jane dropped her final target seconds before Roman did. Because of that she was given first choice of the largest prizes. She beamed as she pointed out and opened her arms to the giant dragon.

Roman stared, he hadn't seen his sister look so unaffectedly happy in ages. Jane eventually had to prod him in the shoulder to bring him back to the present. "You gotta pick your prize, Roman. There's a flamingo or a giraffe."

"Flamingo," at Jane's raised eyebrows, Roman shrugged defensively, "What? They're noble creatures. Pink is a manly colour," and he hoisted the bird up on his shoulders.

She laughed out loud at her serious brother and his pink companion, "Ready to call it a night?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how many times Weller has texted you, wondering when you're coming home," he determined shrewdly. "Ten? Twenty?"

Jane poked him in the side causing him to yelp. "He wanted to know how the carnival was going and if we were having fun. He's having poker night tonight."

Roman gave her a long disbelieving look, "I've seen your phone light up at least 14 times. And every time you get this sappy look on your face. He knows we're just at Coney Island right?"

Jane sighed guiltily, "He's just a bit overprotective. I've given him a few scares."

"I'll say," Roman needled her with the ease of years of practice. He sobered up and knocked her shoulder gently, "Naw, it's good to see how much he cares about you. I didn't think anyone could deserve you, but I guess Weller will do."

"Thanks, Roman, I love you too," Jane pulled him into an awkward group hug with their plushies. Whispering in his ear she said, "Race you to the exit," and gave him a hearty shove before taking off. She looked back with a competitive gleam and dared, "Loser has to pay cab fare."

"Cheater! You just know you could never beat me without an advantage!"

They wove through the crowd, taunting each other as the gambolled to the exit.

When they arrived home, sugar-crashed and exhausted they plopped the prizes in a position of pride on the couch and stumbled to bed. Roman took some ribbing for his pink bird but he defended it proudly. It represented a night he wouldn't forget… and one that she would get to remember.

…

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...

 **There you go. I hope you guys enjoyed it and it provided some entertainment until season 3 begins.**

 **Once again, THANKYOU for all the reviews and favourites and follows for this story!**

 **They mean the world.**

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I am also hoping to start posting my next multi-chap story ASAP, which is an alternative to the season two mid-season finale.

Although with all the super exciting stuff we can anticipate for season 3, I'm a little worried there isn't as much desire for the angst. I'm sorry that I didn't start on it earlier. But, I'm eager to write and post and hopefully some of you will still find it interesting.


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